A Plague on Both Houses
by OmeganQueen
Summary: After restoring the Emperor to life, Horus faces yet another daunting wave of enemies. Nurgle wants his 'waifu' back, and he wants her back bad. ( Follow Up for "The Lupercalian Redemption" and of course, Rated M for obvious reasons )
1. Recap

**The time has come for me to continue where we left off. I thank you all for your patience and anticipation of this book, and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations. Now then, let's get started with a recap, for the sake of those who haven't read the first book ( or feel reluctant to ).**

 **Enjoy.**

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 _The Imperium of Man was losing the Great War._

 _Mankind's greatest champions, the Primarchs, were all but lost- whether it be through complete surrender to the foul promises of the Warp, claimed by death, or driven far to despair. Its forces were scattered, weakened by untold years of infighting. Seizing this grand opportunity to drive the final nail on the coffin, an acolyte of Chaos Undivided stole the gene-seed of the Great Betrayer Horus Lupercal and began his sinister work of recreating the Primarch of the Luna Wolves to usher in a new age- one dominated by the Ruinous Powers._

 _Instead, the clone forged therein captured the true soul of the Primarch. Upon awakening, Horus slew all who were within the corrupted temple. Realizing that the actions committed in that horrible age, though it was through the influence of the Warp, the resurrected Primarch despaired and mourned the state of the Imperium of which he had given all his life for. In desperation, he called for his father, unsure whether an answer would come._

 _But it did, and the Emperor appeared before his son. He renewed the Primarch's purpose, instructing him to save what was lost and restore the Imperium to its former glory- or at least a semblance of that whole. He bestowed upon him the godspear Soulrender, a weapon imbued with the essence of a god and capable of erasing all it struck from existence. It proved to be his greatest weapon, and would become instrumental in the destruction of many powerful foes._

 _Escaping from the temple, Horus Lupercal encountered Sergeant Marcus Aggregius, a Blood Raven astartes and the last survivor of his squad from a tyranid attack. From his new ally, Horus learned all he could about the state of the Imperium at present, and grew even more depressed at the news of its stagnating state. Determined to right his wrongs, the Primarch concealed his true identity under the moniker of the Nameless Hero. Together, the two piloted a space-hulk out of the Warp, which was conveniently trapped in the middle of a trans-warp jump, and out into realspace._

 _Once freed, the transhumans met Captain Maranda Goodwill, daughter of the famed Ursarkar Creed and leader of Battlegroup Imperatis. The remains of the captain's fleet were trapped under heavy fire from a heretic fleet, whose bloodcrazed commander desired nothing more than to lay waste to all the worlds in his path. Utilizing the tools at his disposal, timing and gravity, Horus directed the space-hulk onto a collision course with the enemy flagship and laid waste instead upon the heretic battleships, thereby saving Captain Goodwill and earning himself another ally._

 _Meanwhile, as the forces of Chaos stirred and rallied beneath his banner, the Despoiler rose up from his bloodstained throne and hurled his fateful challenge for the Thirteenth time. Abaddon sought to destroy the Cadian Gate to usher in the Red Age, and to rid the universe of the corpse upon the Golden Throne forever. For the Thirteenth time, a thousand voidships poured out of the Eye of Terror to realspace. For the Thirteenth time, and what would be the final throw, Abaddon encroached upon the Imperial border. With his arrival, the entire sector was set ablaze. Millions perished as the Planetkiller wiped out countless worlds and sundered fleets where they stood._

 _It was here that Horus realized he could do some good, and so devoted his time and effort to save Cadia from its fate._

 _And so he traveled back and forth, lending aid to those in need and guiding the hands of the defenders to better forestall their oncoming judgement. The Emperor, knowing Horus would need all the help he could get, then moved to bring back the Saint Celestine from the abyss. Though instructed directly by her god to aid his son, the hatred for the Betrayer's sins proved too great and Celestine endeavored to test the Primarch for herself._

 _As the shadow of the Despoiler loomed over the Cadian Gate, news reached Horus that another familiar name surfaced upon a cathedral world called Ibrium. His mind goaded by the promise of vengeance, Horus hurled himself down to the world to face the Dark Apostle Erebus- eager to visit a thousand years of betrayal upon the man and doom him into oblivion. He succeeded, but in the midst of the battle revealed his true identity to the sergeant, whose loyalty up till now remained unquestioned._ _Realizing who he truly was, and holding him at gunpoint, Aggregius became torn between duty and passion. On one hand, he had every reason to kill the Archtraitor. On the other, he questioned the reason behind Horus' benevolent actions about the Cadian Gate. Horus managed to convince Aggregius of his intentions, saying that he came to save Cadia, not destroy it- albeit earning himself a broken nose for the deception._

 _So when the day came when Abaddon at last reached Cadia Prime, facing the host of Imperial warships from every corner of the sector, Horus and Aggregius were not found absent from the battlefields. Here they stood with all of Cadia's finest, and many other astartes chapters with an axe to grind against the Despoiler. Among them were the Adepta Sororitas Order of Our Martyred Lady, led personally by Saint Celestine herself._

 _Even though Horus proved instrumental against the forces of Chaos down in the Muster Fields of Cadia, the Saint had yet to believe what even her god sanctioned. And so there came a moment where the Primarch could have been judged falsely and executed before the vengeful masses, had Aggregius not decided to confirm the truth. Though many still believed him as the vile traitor he was, the bigger threat was apparent._

 _The Despoiler's taloned hand closed over Cadia, and the Blackstone Fortresses at his command loomed above the cracked and bleeding world._

 _But just as the Thirteenth Black Crusade reached its frightening peak, Archmagos Belisarius Cawl of the Adeptus Mechanicus activated the dormant Necron arc pylons within Cadia's aged crust, and through the anti-psionic effects did the daemonic entities were snapped out of realspace- crippling the forces of Chaos critically and leaving the Despoiler completely at the mercy of the vengeful Imperial fleets._

 _No longer protected from teleportation means, the Planetkiller flagship was soon assailed by the Lupercal and his allies._

 _The battle that ensued was ironically mirrored to the Siege of Terra in the dark days of the Horus Heresy. Scores of loyalists and traitors died before the battle reached the bridge, upon which the Despoiler himself awaited his coming judgement. It was Horus' chance at redemption, and so he seized it._

 _In the midst of the conflict, Sergeant Marcus Aggregius fell before the Despoiler's power, his corpse merely adding to the billions sacrificed for the cause. This further spurred Horus onward, and Abaddon soon found himself facing the full wrath of his gene-sire. Momentarily, the Despoiler was bought a few minutes of life as his blade struck out against Horus, halting him on his path of vengeance. Seeking to aid him, Saint Celestine engaged the Despoiler, who then overpowered her in the latter moments and broke her wings._

 _Seized by a cold rage, Horus plucked the damnable blade out of his body and drove his spear through Abaddon's heart, though the battle came at a heavy price, he ultimately won and vanquished the Despoiler from all existence._

 _After Abaddon's death, a warp gate tore open and dragged Horus out of the flagship and into the Blackstone Fortress below. There, he chanced upon the Farseer Eldrad Ulthran, who snuck through the Imperial defensive line to aid, somewhat, the people of Cadia by ridding the forces of Chaos their prized Blackstone Fortresses. What came next was beyond anything the two unlikely allies could ever anticipate, for the Blackstone Fortress was in fact dedicated solely to the Dark God Slaanesh!_

 _What followed was a harrowing ordeal, one shared by the two, as Slaanesh tossed them into her private arena to petition for her favors. Whether it was out of a mere whim or some dark and perverse calculated scheme, the facts were lost upon the reluctant gladiators, and they had no choice but to comply. Weeks were spent in the Warp with non-stop fighting, until the two emerged victorious. Sated momentarily, the dark god's favor was seized by Eldrad, who demanded she depart from the sector immediately._

 _The deal was cast, and Slaanesh returned the contenders to Cadian space._

 _Once there, the Farseer and his one-time ally parted ways, and Horus went back to his allies on Cadia Prime. There, the victorious loyalists gathered upon the Muster Fields to honor the fallen who had given their lives for the preservation of Cadia, Horus' name placed among them. The Primarch's return was met with joyous elation, and even the revered Saint Celestine, who harbored a deep feeling of suspicion against the Primarch's intentions initially, felt all her doubts fade away as his true convictions were made evident by his actions done upon Cadia._

 _By his timely intervention, an act that played a pivotal role in the shifting tides of the conflict, Cadia remained standing and the Eye of Terror had been contained. The Despoiler would never threaten the realms of man again._

 _But to Horus, his mission for redemption had not yet ended, and neither did the war as far as he was concerned. So, seizing this chance to rally all to his cause, Horus called for every banner to come to him that he may make for the borders of Ultramar. Convinced that the forces of Chaos, now scattered across the Imperium after Abaddon's defeat, would undoubtedly make for the sub-sector, Horus made haste and journeyed to Ultramar to save his brother- the Primarch Roboute Guilliman, who sat interred upon a stasis chamber deep in the heart of Ultramar Prime._

 _There, he arrived at just the right time, for the realms of Ultramar were under siege by the legions of Chaos Undivided, who took it upon themselves to forever lay low the preserved Primarch within. Utilizing all the meager resources at hand, Horus brought with him the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl, of whom the answer to his brother's revivification lay. And so, keeping all that sought to do his brother harm at bay, Horus led the Archmagos to the throneroom and set him to purpose._

 _There, a spark of hope lit up for the realm of Ultramar, for the Primarch was soon successfully revived._

 _And yet, after beating back the heretics assailing his fortress, Guilliman turned on his brother and attempted to strike him down. The kinship between them had been sundered from the dark days of Horus Heresy, and all that was left was murderous desire and undiluted rage. Though he initially disarmed him, Horus allowed Guilliman to wraps his hands upon his throat, feeling responsible for all that the Imperium had lost the day Chaos claimed his soul. But before Guilliman would have the satisfaction of killing the Primarch, the Emperor of Mankind appeared and intervened on his son's behalf._

 _Here, he rebuked Guilliman and instructed all who were present to give Horus the due respect and loyalty he deserved, declaring that he had already pardoned him for all his sins. Satisfied that his word was kept, the Emperor left his sons to continue in their work to restore the fading Imperium._

 _Absorbing himself into his work, Guilliman endeavored to cleanse Ultramar Prime of any opposition, and with his leadership the defense of his homeworld was successfully made. Reeling from the overwhelming skill shown in every theatre of war, the forces of Chaos retreated then were hunted down, routed and massacred out of existence. One day, as he was left to contemplate on all that had happened, Guilliman again faced Horus._

 _Though the animosity was still fresh between them, he listened to his brother's words, expecting some kind of weak excuse to save him from blame but got, instead, a sincere plea for forgiveness that touched the Primarch's otherwise stubborn heart._

 _To Guilliman, he saw that even the people of Cadia saw in Horus what they would otherwise remain blind to, and asked himself what kind of a Primarch would he be that he should show any less compassion than those who lived in the dark age ushered by the Horus Heresy. Though the kinship between them would never be fully restored, Horus felt content with his brother's new perspective on the matter and lent whatever aid he could give in preparing their forces for the journey back to Terra, as per instructed by the Emperor himself._

 _Meanwhile, the Emperor reached out to his son trapped within the Warp on his millennia long voyage of penance, that he may rouse him from his solitary confinement and bring him back to realspace. Corvus Corax, overjoyed that his purpose had been renewed, listened intently to his father's instruction._ _For when the Terran Crusade began their long and arduous trek through the Immaterium, the Raven Lord's involvement in the coming battles proved to be instrumental in keeping the Primarchs more or less intact for their arrival on the capital._

 _As the brother Primarchs journeyed slowly towards Terra, the unshakable feeling of doom could be felt at the corners of their minds, and though caution was held in highest regard along the crusade, disaster still struck. An expertly planned and executed trap caught the Terran Crusade as they exited through the mouth of the Maelstrom and into the roaring guns of the Thousand Sons battlefleets! Losses were critical and mounting, and desperate measures were taken to keep the Crusade from being utterly destroyed._

 _The Fateweaver, Kairos, took it upon himself to rid the Crusade of one Primarch and attacked Guilliman's vessel personally. While he managed to successfully overcome the Primarch's defenses, he had forgotten Horus Lupercal and had not counted on the timely intervention of the Raven Lord. For when the hour drew near, Corvus Corax descended upon the forces of Chaos like a bird of prey coming to steal a meal from the battlefield. This, in turn, resulted in the death of the Greater Daemon and plunged the Imperial fleets into the bloodstained borders of Huron Blackheart's domain._

 _Though Guilliman suggested that they continue back on their way to Terra, Horus revealed that they had a chance to rid the galaxy of another serious threat and called for his forces to converge on the Blackstone Fortress that held the Tyrant of Badab and slay him while they still had the momentum._

 _And so they did, with bolter and sword they laid waste to the fortress just as coincidentally the bloodcrazed hordes of the Chaos God Khorne assaulted the Blackstone Fortress on the other front. Caught between two powerful foes, Huron Blackheart's time came to an end, and the Tyrant made his last stand on the Maelstrom before Horus slew him and blotted him out of existence with the godspear._

 _In the moments where he was found alone, Horus spent his time talking with Saint Celestine, who had grown quite fond of the Primarch over time. His story, to her, was one that stood as a testament to the Emperor's unending grace and limitless compassion, and truly something she had come to admire. This admiration blossomed into a form of platonic affection, one that forged a strong bond between the Primarch and Saint that kept each other strong in the future conflict that they soon faced upon reaching Terra._

 _For when the ruling government of the capital learned of the approaching Primarchs, fear and confusion stirred by none other than the Great Deceiver Tzeentch caused them to turn against their would-be saviors and fired upon the approaching Terran Crusade._

 _A brief civil war broke out in the sector, stopped only by the intervention of the Emperor himself, who knew that there would be no word but his that could sway the zealous masses into accepting his redeemed son. This intervention also caused so many tears in the fabric of reality, for the Emperor had to tear himself free from his mortal vessel in order to soundly rebuke the instigators of the conflict, that the daemons swarmed through the streets of the Imperial Palace. Once all had been dealt with, and with great haste, the Emperor left his instructions to the leaders of the Crusade._

 _Corvus Corax was named Lord Vanquisher, and he was instructed to protect the borders, particularly the Damocles Gulf, from the encroaching xenos. Roboute Guilliman was named Lord Commander of the Realms, and was tasked to fix the crumbling logistics aspects, the economical status of the Imperium, and the waning Imperial Armies- a task he was felt better suited for. Saint Celestine, whom the Emperor declared officially with the honorable title of 'daughter', was instructed to reform the Ecclesiarchy, as per request from his son Horus._

 _The reasons, as stated, was not because Horus saw his father as a god like Lorgar Aurelian thought in the past. Rather, Horus saw that the faith in the Emperor made him stronger in the Warp, and only through that faith could the citizens of the Imperium continue through the dark days of this grim future. He begged the Emperor not to plunge mankind into an age of unbelief, for to do so will bring only ruin to mankind and give the forces of Chaos ground to exploit and eventually win. Reluctantly, the Emperor agreed and told Celestine to reform the Ecclesiarchy into something better than it was before, and one such reform was to destroy the Tenets of Penance, as it lent the Dark God Slaanesh power through the excesses of pain and suffering done by the willing hands of the Sisters Repentia._

 _For Horus, he was tasked to reform his legion, a task he at first felt unworthy of. With directions to journey to the Vaults of Mars, the Emperor gave permission to have the new legion be made stronger than before, saying that it would serve Horus well in his future tasks ahead. And the Emperor gave one last task before leaving, revealing a plan that would serve as his trump card to change the Great Game. Horus was instructed to utilize whatever resources he had to wrest the Aeldari Goddess Isha from the Realm of Chaos, and bring her to him that he may be resurrected from the brink of death._

 _And so the leaders parted ways, with each a daunting quest to fulfill._

 _Horus reformed the Luna Wolves, of whose young ranks were places under the leadership of the Bannerless Brethren, outcasts and ancients that stood by Horus when he retrieved the STC responsible for the remodified gene-seed necessary for the formation of the new legion. There was Galio, the last known original Luna Wolf. There was Graves, an Imperial Fist turned mercenary. There was Thavos, a hulk of an astartes hailing from the Mastodon chapter. There was Alduin, an absolved Emperor's Child. There was Otho Galatian, and his fellow Doomslayer, a mute named Mordekai._

 _As if to test the legion's strength, the champion of Nurgle, the foul wretch Typhus the Traveler, arrived on site to despoil the Luna Wolves project while it remained at its infancy. They were stopped only through the involvement of an unlikely foe, and a very unlikely ally for the Luna Wolves- the Ynnari and their Prophetess Yvraine!_

 _Though held in high suspicion by his sons, Horus gave Yvraine the benefit of the doubt, seeing as how her intervention gave them ample opportunity to slay Typhus and rid the galaxy of another disease. This act later forged a better relationship between the aeldari and mankind, though in this particular instance, exclusive to the Luna Wolves._

 _Once the danger had passed, the Luna Wolves journeyed towards Fenris, the Space Wolves' homeworld to inquire of the Rune Priests of the visions pertaining to their missing Primarch's location. Concluding his visit with a promise to restore their lost Primarch, the Luna Wolves joined forces with the Space Wolves and mustered their fleets to make the bold trek into the Plague God's realms._

 _But before they could leave, the Prophetess Yvraine left a parting gift unto Horus, one that would better shift the odds in their favor should they tread the perilous gardens of Nurgle. Here, she revealed that the godspear that Horus held contained the hidden form of one of the five Croneswords- powerful artifacts of the aeldari's lost age that would aid in her quest to revive her patron god Ynnead. But when the Primarch demanded that she return the spear to him, Yvraine acquiesced and wished him good fortune in the wars to come- to the dismay of her coterie of warlocks and exarchs._

 _Protected by the artifact- the Rose of Isha- Horus and his legions chanced upon Leman Russ after countless years wandering through the Warp. Akin to Guilliman's reaction to Horus' return, Leman attempted to strike him down, for the marks of the Horus Heresy were still fresh on his mind. But unlike the first time, Horus had a higher purpose to this quest, and he needed Leman Russ' aid- aside from the fact that he preferred to be more or less intact in the approaching battle._

 _Though it took him a great while to absorb all that had happened in his long absence, Leman eventually came around and aided Horus in the battle against the forces of Nurgle. Together, the Primarchs wrested Isha away from Nurgle's palace and made straight for the borders of Terra. With the goddess at their side, they returned to the Golden Throne._

 _And by her touch, the Emperor returned to life._

 _Now, as the millennia draws to a close, an enraged Nurgle summons all his followers from every corner of the material and immaterial realms. Promising an eternity of suffering upon mankind for the slight he received from the Lupercal, he dispatches his favored champion, the Daemon Prince Mortarion on a quest to retrieve Isha and put her back in her cage where she belonged._

 _It is now the 42nd Millennium, and in the grim darkness of the far future..._

 _There is only war..._

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 **Shipping the Emprah and Isha? Yes yes, I know it is heresy...**

 **Aaaaaand, I don't care :)**


	2. Coronation

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The Emperor took a deep breath of the crisp, Himalayan air and savored the way it tickled the flesh of his lungs on the way down. For too long had he remained a corpse, that every sensation his new body now felt was welcomed, and even better enjoyed. Countless millennia of immobility, inaction, had built up a tidal wave of frustration within him, but for the sake of the formal address he would make to the billions of men and women on Terra he would hold back and instead move to provide an encouraging speech.

His only living sons were not all present at the time, for Guilliman and Corax were well into their duties defending the Imperium from its many enemies. At best, he had Leman Russ and Horus Lupercal to attend the coronation. The Primarch of the Luna Wolves stood close at his right, dressed in his white _Serpent's Scales_ artificer power armor, polished and restored by the finest craftsmen found in the capital sub-sector. In his right hand was held the godspear Soulrender, the very weapon that slew the Despoiler Abaddon on Cadia and disemboweled the Dark God Nurgle in the Warp, and upon his left was the Nebula Gauntlet. Horus Lupercal, though thought often grim in his usual demeanor, had a smile on his face as the dawning light shone upon the Imperial Palace as the sun broke through the skies above, mirroring the current state of the Imperium entire.

Leman Russ on the left, stood just as impressive as his redeemed brother, though the air of pride upon his countenance could be keenly felt. His blood-red mane shook as the winds of Terra blew against its locks, and from a distance it could be mistaken that the Primarch's head was on fire. At his hip hung Mjalnar and Helwinter, weapons that served him well in the countless years he spent in the Warp and beyond. The blood of the slain daemons could not be scrubbed so easily, and so Leman allowed the smears to remain for they became reminders of the scores of daemonkin he killed back in that hellscape, a fact that he was quite proud of. Upon his return to Terra, a new suit of artificer armor was crafted in the likeness of his old one. Leman had run out of names to call his panoply and so he simply took to calling it 'The Armor of Russ'. His brow arched as his eye fell on Isha, who stood behind the Emperor, and a great feeling of disdain welled up in his heart when he saw her.

Isha could feel the Primarch leering at her, and her eyes lowered. She couldn't blame him for hating her, for the aeldari people she had sacrificed so much for had made so much of a mess concerning mankind. If anything, it was justified.

"Good morning, my beloved Terra." The Emperor waved to the crowds below, to the ones pressing to gain a glimpse of their god's return and to the ones eagerly soaking up the vid-feeds drawn from the electronic eyes of hovering skull-probes. His first words, felt as if personally addressing each and every person bearing witness, evoked a thunderous roar from the masses. For him to call the homeworld 'beloved' on the first day shed all doubts, and even the most skeptical of Inquisitors felt this was indeed their Emperor, and were grateful that his passion for Earth never waned.

When the roar ceased, the Emperor continued. He glanced about, eyes studying the many idols and gilded statues erected in his honor from one end of the vast courtyard to the next. So much had been lost in those dark days, when the civil war nearly burned Terra away. It was a great surprise to see that in spite of all that, mankind persevered and endured, even in his absence and of the absence of all the Primarchs.

"For too long have you walked in darkness, too long have the foes of the Imperium preyed upon our maiden worlds. Those days are over, for now that I have returned, it shall mark this day as the beginning of a new age." Again, the crowds cheered, yet died down as quickly for everyone did not wish to miss a single word from their god. "But before I go any further, I wish for you to welcome someone new to the Imperium- someone whose aid I could never have done without. I'm certain many of you have met her before."

The Emperor stepped aside and beckoned for Isha to move closer to the balcony for everyone to see. The cheer of the crowd was deafening, and it shook the foundations of the Imperial Palace so much that the Adeptus Custodes inside initially thought they were being bombarded. Isha smiled gently and waved a modest, and simple wave akin to one hesitant to receive so much attention. The Emperor placed a reassuring arm across her shoulders and said, "This is Isha, Goddess of Life and once-captive of the Dark God Nurgle. She is the first of many allies come to aid us in our struggle against the forces of Chaos."

Horus wondered why the Emperor failed to mention her true nature for a moment, then realized the masses would be too daft to notice. He hoped they would not reject her as easily as they did him.

"And she is your new Empress."

These words were met with a dead-like silence, followed with nothing but the gentle murmur and faint whispers of the crowd below to ride the winds of the summer day.

"Hail Isha, Hail the Everqueen!" Someone in the crowd yelled, only to be echoed like the passing of a newborn wave upon the sea. The chorus was just as deafening as the prelude, and the people welcomed their new Empress, much to both the Emperor and Horus' relief. And Isha, seeing that there was ample room for her in this unfamiliar kingdom, rejoiced inwardly and bowed her head in thanks. The Emperor drew her aside and continued on with the pleasantries that the ceremony would be concluded quickly, for he had many tasks to accomplish in such a short time. The Dark God Nurgle would not wait for him, and he knew that the enemies of mankind were mobilizing at their gates, he would have the Imperium ready for such a confrontation.

When the speech was over, the Emperor and his Custodes escorted the goddess out of sight and into the confines of the Imperial Palace. He then called for a meeting of the most trustworthy of his officials, and drew his two sons close to reveal his plan to strengthen the weakening infrastructure of the Imperium. First thing's first; he would have to conduct a purge. All those deemed incompetent, vile, disloyal and found unworthy of office were to be tried and summarily executed, starting with the Inquisition. The Primarchs did not find the order too heavy handed, for to clear the plot one must take away the weeds to make room for the plants, and they found the wisdom in it. Then, as follows, the more competent remnants of the purge would go out through the ranks of every officionarum in the Imperium and repeat the procedure, until all that was left were good and loyal servants to the Imperium.

Then, he went to the more pressing matter at hand- the one concerning Nurgle and his gathering of forces.

Presently, the gathered leaders of the Ecclesiarchy arrived on Terra to confirm their god's resurrection and pay due homage to their Emperor. Led by the Living Saints, including the revered Celestine, they marched through the crowded streets, proudly displaying the many additions to their army. Gone were the Sisters Repentia, having been abolished when the Emperor commanded Celestine to dismantle the Tenets of Penance. Gone were the Penitent Engines, of whose riders were largely innocent men and women condemned to satisfy the whims of their depraved leaders.

They were, however, replaced by the Lupercalian Engines. They stood like the Knights of the venerable houses, but were piloted by three sisters and sported three heads to symbolize the Three Primarchs who came to Terra in the latter years of the 41st Millennium. Utilizing ancient technologies sanctioned and sanctified by both the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Ecclesiarchy, the three pilots' minds were linked to significantly outdo the Engine's precursors and give them an advantage in the fields of battle. While the Lupercalian Engine stood as an invaluable support battle machine, it was also the Sisters' reminder that there were many ways to earn forgiveness in the Emperor's eyes, minus the excesses of pain that he so detested.

When Horus saw Celestine, his eyes lit up and a smile formed on his lips.

But the look he received from her was one, to his great astonishment, of cold indifference. Horus' smile faded, Celestine refused to meet his eye and looked straight ahead as she beheld her god. She and her twin Geminae and the other Saints knelt before the Emperor and swore their undying fealty and renewed their vows to him, something that the Emperor gratefully accepted.

"You have done well, my sons and daughters." The Emperor congratulated, and bid them rise.

Celestine turned aside and approached Isha, "And you. You are the one responsible for resurrecting the God Emperor of Mankind?"

Isha nodded and politely returned, "I am."

"The Imperium thanks you for your service." Celestine said sincerely, "I hope your stay has not been too uncomfortable."

"Oh, but on the contrary." Isha replied, looking up at the Emperor as his hand slipped around her waist. As of late, he was never far from her side, and to be honest she found it adorable. "Your Emperor goes so far as to make sure I enjoy my stay."

"But of course, it's the least I can do." Horus could've sworn he saw his father wink for a split second there.

Isha, however, seemed strangely aloof to it. "I hope I can return the favor, somehow."

With the arrival of the representatives of the Ecclesiarchy, it was natural to expect that many more would soon follow just to gain an audience with the Emperor, and so the Lords of Terra quickly sent word through all channels forbidding anyone from abandoning their posts in an attempt to make an untimely pilgrimage at this time. News spread like wildfire, and even the enemies of mankind would be swift to catch on. They would fight even harder, to think they would abandon their conquests upon hearing of the Emperor's return would be foolishness.

When the rare moment came for the Emperor and the Everqueen to speak alone, the Emperor seized it and revealed that human side of infinite compassion to her. Isha was not at her full potential, no matter how radiant she seemed to be, and neither was he. "Are you alright?" He asked in concern, noticing how the brilliance in her faded just a tiny bit, so small that mortal eyes cannot even realize. "Do the ceremonies take a heavy toll on you? If so, say the word and I can arrange for you to-

"You needn't worry for my welfare." Isha said, "It's taken a while to sink in, but I know now..." The goddess moved through the empty hall with the grace of a swan gliding through water, she twirled around as her laughter broke the stillness of that quiet place. "I am free! Of all that is good and just, I am free!" The Emperor watched as she danced with carefree merriment, feeling lost in the throes of that moment. It has been too long since he'd actually seen someone so happy, truly happy, and a peculiar warmth settled within his heart.

How could someone, who spent untold millennia being locked up and tortured, manage to survive it all intact and be this mirthful? Some might call it madness, but the Emperor knew better. Seeing Isha like this reminded him again what he was fighting for. To hell with the fact that she was an alien goddess, she was a gentle soul who knew only suffering and only saw the faint rays of hope shining through the cracks of a dark and merciless future.

She was, in all but name, human.

"And it's all thanks to you." The Emperor realized Isha was embracing him, having been lost in the suffocating haze of his own thoughts. He gazed down at her, watching as those tears of joy slid down her cheeks. "Thank you."

He held her there for the longest time, he had forgotten his duties to the Imperium and yet he didn't care. For the first time, something mattered more to him than anything else and that emotion he had long buried for the sake of carrying out his duty as Emperor resurfaced. He lifted Isha's face to meet his own and declared with a firm, whispered tone, "You will never return to that cage for as long as I draw breath."

Isha closed her eyes, and her sobs ceased. She placed her forehead gently against his and reveled in the sweet respite offered in the god's embrace.

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	3. The Veil Comes Down

**"Titan of Warhammer 40k Fanfiction"? Nah, I'm just your average fan frustrated with the unnecessary twists and turns GW does with W40k these days as the next one. But still, I appreciate the kind words, so thank you Van Erik Lucasan and I hope I live up to ( mostly ) everyone's expectations.**

 **Enjoy!**

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"Celestine."

The Saint turned and bowed her head reverently as she beheld her god, and to the goddess standing at his side she gave due salutations. "My Emperor! My Everqueen! How can your handmaiden serve?"

"Isha, you go on ahead." The Emperor bade his companion, "The Gardens are just across the balcony. I'll catch up right after I have my words with my daughter."

The goddess nodded once and left the two alone. The Saint wondered whatever it was that was so important that she'd have a private audience with her god, not that she was complaining in the least. "Have I displeased you in any way, my lord?"

"Hm?" The Emperor looked puzzled, "Be at ease, Celestine. Well, I guess you can say I am displeased. But it's not related in any way to how you've followed my commands. In fact, I am proud of how you've managed to bring the Ecclesiarchy back on a proper course, better than I even planned!"

"But..." Celestine began, a little confused as to what she may have done wrong. "...what have you found lacking in me? Whatever it is, I swear to rectify any oversights!"

"Ah, then it seems that our little conversation has set itself on proper footing." The Emperor replied, "I am talking about the relationship you share with my son Horus." Celestine's eyes shot up to meet her god's own. She panicked, still unsure by what he meant. Before she could stutter and embarrass herself with all her flailing, the Emperor continued. "Don't misunderstand my meaning, Celestine. I do not condemn it, for in fact, I approve. What I am displeased about is how cold you've been around him lately."

She calmed down, somewhat. "My lord?"

"Those stares of indifference were not lost on me, y'know." The Emperor said, "If there's anything crueler than the sting of death, it's a woman's scorn. But I don't think you even know what exactly it is you feel about him, am I right?"

"It is...it is not a sin?"

"To love? Not at all." The Emperor replied, "What made you think that?"

"But my lord, these feelings awakened many forbidden desires in me!" Celestine cried, "Desires that gave the enemy ground to overcome me! What kind of servant of yours would I be to allow such a thing if it endangers myself and those around me?"

The Emperor surprised Celestine by bursting out laughing, "Hah! The Dark God Slaanesh only got under your skin because she knew you suppress that natural desire for companionship. It is not the emotion she used to overcome you, it is the thought of it being forbidden that she used against you. Trust me, I've known that cow's tricks in my time in the Warp."

"I don't doubt you know more than I ever will..."

"Then it shouldn't be so difficult for you to understand that feeling attracted to someone is natural." The Emperor referred to Isha, just as the goddess rounded the corner and disappeared into the Gardens of the Imperial Palace. "Look at me, I'm a god and I also feel love. It's not an ugly, forbidden thing that you must deprive yourself of. It is not lust, that which burns as quickly as a spark. It's love, my daughter, in its purest of forms."

"Love..."

"Why do you think I'm still alive? Love kept me going, and now my heart burns ever brighter."

"W-What do I do?" Celestine stammered.

The Emperor walked close to a nearby window. His keen eyes saw Horus beginning to board a Thunderhawk to take him to the fleet above Terra, "Well, you'd better tell him how you feel. In this millennia, you might never get another chance." He turned to see the Saint paralyzed with indecision, obviously still digesting the advice of her god. The smile on his face was wide and quite mischievous, "Go. Make me some grandkids."

Horus had received word that the outlaying territories of the Imperium were heavily beset by the legions of the Plague God, not due to survivors' testimonies but through the messages sent from his old allies with the Ynnari. Of all the eldar, Yvraine was the most useful, and an unspoken mutual partnership formed between the Primarch and Prophetess. The service on Terra was over, Horus was now free to continue his work elsewhere. He had hoped to gain some level of satisfaction, some word of approval or praise for his success, particularly from Saint Celestine. Alas, her treatment discouraged him from pursuing such trivial matters.

Sighing in exasperation, Horus focused his mind on the task at hand. His father's praise was enough, he knew he had done well, what more could he ask?

After seeing to the proper rituals and honors to the fallen of his Luna Wolves sons, Horus bade the legion to make for the frontier, taking as many recruits as they could to be inducted into the Primaris programs that their numbers may be replenished. His departure from Terra, however, was stalled as his brother Leman Russ demanded he partake of the celebrations the Space Wolves had for the return of the Allfather. Ignoring his dutiful brother's protests, the King of Fenris dragged the Luna Wolves Primarch over to the nearest den and never released his grip until Horus downed a couple of kegs with him.

The Lupercal bore the treatment with a polite smile, and a boiling disposition just beneath the surface. He had no time for revelry, the Imperium had no time at all. Their enemies were still out there, but Horus did not wish to breach the already fragile truce between himself and Russ. And so, he suffered the celebrations in silence.

When the astartes around him, not excluding Leman Russ himself, had gotten drunk on their ale, Horus slipped out of the den to clear himself of the suffocating atmosphere. He emerged into the empty street of the Imperial City, something that should've been non-existent given the overpopulation of the Capital World. Horus, at first, thought something bad was about to happen until he caught sight of Saint Celestine. It was the Sisters of the Our Martyred Lady Order that diverted the crowds out of the street, giving them a few precious minutes alone and away from prying eyes. The Adepta Sororitas held a strong line two hundred meters from the drinking den, enough of a distance to satisfy the Saint as she floated down to earth.

"Horus?"

The Primarch cracked a smile, "Well now, I was beginning to think I was no longer welcome in your presence."

"I..." The Saint's feet lightly touched the dirty cobblestone street, "I have many things that demand explanation...but in all honesty I am uncertain how to begin."

"We are alone, you have all the time in the world."

Saint Celestine glared daggers at the Primarch, "I beg silence, my lord. Your words break my composition and scatter my thoughts."

Horus' brow arched, but he relented and held his tongue while the Saint spoke her mind.

"I have held so much awe and admiration for you all this time I've known you. You've earned every shred of it, but I know that it extends to more than that." Celestine took a deep breath, then let it out as though she had run a thousand miles. She might as well have, that would've been easier than this. But then, the Emperor's word was law and she had to obey. "I think...I think I love you, my lord." Celestine said it as one would test the waters, almost as if she was afraid the feeling she'd get was as cold as winter's chilling touch.

Horus cocked his head wolfishly and smiled.

Celestine was livid. Was he making fun of her?! Here she was, shredding her walls and rendering herself vulnerable, and he'd have the gall to look amused?!

And then she saw that twinkle in his eye, "I feel that too. I suppose we've never addressed until now because, well, we're so damned busy."

Celestine let out a sigh of relief, "Quite so."

"I'm glad you told me." Horus said, daring to take the Saint's hand in his. It was a simple gesture, not too overwhelming, but enough to send currents through Celestine's arm. Inwardly, she was squealing with delight. "But we have our duties." Horus spoke softly, almost as if saying it saddened him. "Mankind, and the Imperium, comes first."

"Mankind, and the Imperium, comes first." Celestine echoed wistfully.

"But perhaps..." The Primarch said thoughtfully, "...in the brief respites we shall have in between, you and I can share these moments? That we can further explore this beautiful thing you call...love?"

"Oh? I'd like that."

"HOOORRRRUSSS!" Leman Russ' slurring bellows from the den rang clear in the midday air, "WHERE ARE YOU!? Don't go slipping away 'hic' from me!"

Horus rolled his eyes and turned to leave, "That would be my cue. I still have my battles to win on the frontier. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

"Horus, wait!" Celestine swiveled the Primarch about to make him face her. She hesitated for a moment, buried the embarrassment and surmounted the doubts circling her mind. She took her leap of faith and kissed the man she loved. The Primarch closed his eyes and reveled in the taste of her lips. Soulrender rang out as he dropped the spear, letting it lie unheeded on the street where it fell. His hand held the Saint's chin, thumb gently tracing her soft jawline as his mouth melded with hers. The other grabbed onto her waist, holding her in place so he would get the full measure of her parting gift.

She kissed him for so long that Horus's lips grew numb, and his mind drifted off to heaven for the small eternity of six seconds.

Celestine separated from her lord with but an inch between their faces, "Slay the heretics and hurry back. My heart yearns for more."

Horus nodded wordlessly, picked up his spear, and walked away into the waiting Thunderhawk to carry him into the bloodsoaked borders of the Imperium. From his Garden on high, the Emperor watched the passionate exchange between his Horus and the Saint with a proud smile on his lips.

* * *

Dead worlds floated in the void of space, their remains serving as gravestones for the innumerable billions slain in the Plague Legions' wake. There were no survivors, for the slow pace in which the Legions of Decay had allowed them ample opportunity to slip like poison and dismantle each sector's defenses, crippling their communication arrays and setting an unbreakable shroud that spelled death for those waiting for it to come. It was a long and grueling chore.

And Mortarion hated it.

He hated what he became, that was no secret. He hated what became of his sons, the only people on the face of the universe whom he considered family, and he hated himself for dooming them into this cursed state- unable to die, and unable to live. For a long time, he even grew content being left alone on the Daemon world. But then, that damnable clone of Horus got too big for his boots and slighted the Plague God. His reverie was interrupted.

And of all the many things he hated, Mortarion hated Horus the most.

He never forgave the Warmaster for failing when it mattered most, then causing the Deathguard to scatter into the void, right into the waiting arms of Nurgle himself. Slaying Typhus was no redeeming deed for him, Mortarion merely saw it as another robbed chance at claiming vengeance, knowing that Typhus got them into that mess in the first place. Now, called upon by his patron like a dog on a leash, Mortarion heralded every imaginable disease and pestilence upon the Imperium, ignoring all other enemies as he and the Plague Legions made for Terra. A long path, and a very ambitious one.

But Nurgle would not be denied, and so Mortarion pushed on. His hatred for his god grew, and that only spurred him to push forward even harder.

Now, standing upon the skulls of the billions he had slain, Mortarion raised his scythe and pointed it at the sea of stars beyond. Their time for waiting was over, the Great Culling was nigh. "And now I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds!" A man had spoken these words in a forgotten time, and his words were filled with sadness and regret. Mortarion, however, embraced it and was elated. "And I shall bring ruin to my father's kingdom! Forward!"

His legions, eager to spread the gifts of the Grandfather of All, boarded their feculent warships and entered the Warp, only to emerge to bathe the helpless worlds of man with Nurgle's glorious attentions. Psykers from all corners of the Imperium wailed and bemoaned the visions plaguing their minds, for the very foundations of reality shook as the hand of the Plague god emerged from the Empyrean.

Slowly, steadily, given ground by the paved way courtesy of his followers, Nurgle began to enter realspace.

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 **So much heresy, I know a Vindicare's bolt is due at any moment.**

 **If I don't update within the month, you guys know what happened. Kidding, of course. I wanted to put that in there for so long, I'm happy it came together when it did in my head. Thanks for your support, I really appreciate it!**

 **Till next time.**


	4. Halting the Invasion

**I think it's time Yvraine and the Ynnari have their chance at the spotlight, yeah? Also, I believe some iconic figures in the W40k universe ought to be introduced, not excluding the missing Primarchs, of course. I haven't forgotten them, just need to bring them into writing when it's most convenient.**

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"You bore me..."

Her voice, so disarmingly sweet, caressed the dying astartes renegade's ears like satin sheets. His chainsword grumbled as his fingers slipped free from the handle, dropping it clumsily to the bloodstained earth. Somehow, the woman had found fatal chinks in his armor, even through his nigh impenetrable guard, and exploited them to deadly purpose. With a barely audible whistle, the blade slashed across realspace, cutting another fatal gash through his armor and onto flesh. He uttered a gurgling noise as the blood foamed at his mouth, and he fell straight and true like a toppled pillar, joining his brothers-in-arms as they lay scattered across the battlefield.

Lelith Hesperax sighed and shook her head, finding the whole ordeal a waste of her time, but on the side note found it oddly relaxing. She had spent a long time in the journey from Commoragh to the backwater planet she now stood upon sparring alone with her shadow, the one thing fast enough to match her- in an attempt to one day be swifter than light- that she later craved again the chance to hunt live prey. Pledging her Cult to aid the Ynnari allowed her ample opportunity for a selection of different foes, all of which proved to be as clumsy and slow as the spacemarines she killed earlier. They faced Orks, alien beasts, and sometimes a marauder party of drukhari pirates.

The latter fled before the fighting even begun, leaving Lelith and her wyches seething and unsatisfied at the conclusion. Lelith could wait for a little while, but she was far from the patient hunter. Any longer with all this nonsense, and she would abandon her pledge in order to pursue her insatiable desire to track down worthy opponents and add their skulls to her collection. But then, she would remind herself of the one silver lining in this temporary alliance. For as much as she shared the common goal of putting an end to She-Who-Thirsts, Lelith's alliance with the Prophetess Yvraine allowed her access to one legendary and very rare specimen...

Horus Lupercal.

The slayer of the Emperor of Mankind, and of the Primarch Sanguinius. Resurrected through a ritual, they say, a man driven hard to redeem himself in the eyes of his people. Poetic, in her eyes, but very short-sighted. A lion does not concern itself with the opinions of the sheep. There is only the deeds, the glory, and the next battle. Then again, what did she expect from a politician?

Primarchs were meant to encompass every aspect a leader must hold; as commanders, warriors, and as a rhetorician. Usually the aeldari despised humans, but Yvraine proved in the small talks she had with the Succubus that Horus was vastly different altogether. This, she would have to see for herself.

"How much longer must we wait?" The impatience flared up within her as she flicked the blood clean off of her blades, "Your friend is not a punctual fellow, isn't he?"

Yvraine kept her distance, and just as well, kept silent. She knew Horus had a good reason to be late, but he would nonetheless appear. Then, as if to confirm her assumptions, the Luna Wolves Legion appeared in orbit. Horus had taken an alternative route, for the disturbances in the Warp had grown stronger ever since he had left with Isha and escaped the pestilent realm of Nurgle. Yvraine had informed him of the importance of their meeting, advising him to bring the best of his forces as he would need them in the coming battle. The Primarch did as the Prophetess advised, showing how much trust had grown between them over time, and brought with him a thousand strong voidships carrying millions if not billions of loyalist warriors, from the lowest guardsman to the awesome Primaris marines at his command. The astartes were all Luna Wolves, but the guardsmen hailed from many worlds, particularly those seeking to absolve themselves from some crime or other. Though Horus had initially thought they would resist the idea of fighting alongside xenos like the aeldari, he received no such resistance. He knew better, their reluctance boiled beneath the surface, but nevertheless they followed the Favored Son through and through.

The Succubus leaned casually against the crumbling, sand-encrusted pillar behind her, and cast a disdainful look upon the Primarch as he exited his Thunderhawk. Lelith scowled like a petulant child, disappointed to see that the Primarch held not a single air of pride on him for such an accomplished killer. He didn't look so impressive to her, in fact, he even looked a bit...humble?

"Greetings, Prophetess."

Yvraine smiled, something that Lelith never saw her do with that oft-grim countenance that never wavered up until now. "You've done quite well for yourself since we've last spoken. I've heard your Emperor has been revived? Congratulations."

Horus nodded gratefully, "Yes, and I have you to thank for your part in that."

"Is it true then? You've managed to wrest Isha free from the clutches of the Vile One?" The Visarch at her side asked, wishing to have his curiosity sated. "How could a human like yourself succeed where we have all failed?" Or perhaps, he wished to have his wounded pride dressed in some way, that he spoke out of turn.

Wishing to save face, Yvraine silenced her subordinate with a disapproving glare and changed the subject. "And I see you've brought more than I've asked, I'm glad you've taken my warning seriously."

"Warning?" Horus asked, "You've kept me in the dark for a bit back there, with your cryptic messages. I'm here now, would you kindly explain to me why you've brought me all the way here for?"

Yvraine nodded, referring to the ground they now stood upon. "I have called you here for two things; two visions that I must now decipher. Upon this barren rock, this backwater world called Adeen, this shall be the battleground in which we shall halt the invasion of the Dark God Nurgle's forces. I have foreseen that it will become largely a stalemate, many will be lost, but not an inch of ground would be taken, and the Plague Legions shall exhaust their resources to the point that they will be forced to retreat. It is this reason why I've asked much of you, for if the forces of Chaos manage to breach further into your territories, the more ground could their patron god gain to enter this reality. And when he does, there will be no hope for mankind. All will perish, and with the Imperium's fall, creation will follow."

Horus frowned, but was not surprised that such a thing was possible. "So, that's why the Warp roils as such. What is the second vision, then?"

"I sense the Devourers encroaching upon the Realms Ultramar. I know this to be so, for a heavy shroud falls upon my vision each time I peer through the winds of time."

Horus' eyes widened, "Guilliman will have his hands full with the Orks. Corvus deals with the Tau in the Damocles Gulf. Leman has his own vengeance to sate against Magnus and his patron god. If the tyranids slip by their defenses, as they always have with every force they've encountered, Ultramar will undoubtedly be lost."

"Could the sons of Ultramar not handle themselves against the Devourers?" Yvraine questioned, "I thought them formidable both in offensive and defensive aspects?"

"Not without their Primarch." Horus said, "And with the Warp storms growing stronger by the minute, no one can warn them nor can reinforcements reach them in time." The gene-sire of the Luna Wolves sighed, "But you, the Ynnari, are your ships not swifter than ours? If so, I find myself in the position of asking for your aid. Would you do me this kindness, Prophetess? Warn the defenders of the Ultramar sub-sector, and give aid when it is most needed?"

Yvraine's brow arched at this, "You're deliberately asking me for help? Ah, but there's a first time for everything." She threw her subordinates a quick glance, then turned back to the Primarch. "Very well, the Ynnari will do as you ask." It needn't be said that with this favor, Yvraine would hold Horus to it for a favor of her own in the future, a fact that Horus gladly accepted. It was the way of things in alliances such as this, especially with one so fragile as theirs.

"I thank you, Prophetess."

"You may thank me when I've finished the task, not before." She reminded, "Fight well, Lord Horus Lupercal of Cthonia."

"The _last_ Lord of Cthonia." Lelith spat, remaining where she was, unmoving since the beginning of the meeting. When asked if she would accompany the Prophetess on her mission to warn Ultramar, Lelith scoffed. "I am no human's lapdog! I am here to collect my bounty, and that is the heads of every poxfilth son of Nurgle I meet on the field of battle!"

"Then you will have a rich bounty indeed." Horus remarked, turning back to his Thunderhawk that he may address the fleets of their intended actions. He kept a wary eye on the drukhari mercenaries, especially Lelith. From the way the meeting turned out, she seemed quite the handful. He trusted Yvraine, but he certainly did not trust the dark eldar. Though he maintained a polite demeanor, Horus was nonetheless eager to do away with the sadists if he got the chance, knowing full well the untold suffering they've inflicted on the innocent. Alas, they were in an alliance with the Ynnari, and by extension protected by said alliance, a fact he very much hated but accepted.

His thoughts on the matter were shared by his First Captains, Graves especially. "My lord, allying with the Ynnari is one thing I and my brothers can tolerate, but to fight alongside these filthy drukhari is too much!"

"That's why you're not fighting anywhere near them." Horus replied, "They are but carrion birds in this war, waiting only when all sides are weary from the battle. Endeavor hard to ensure you are not exhausted when the day is done. Keep a wary eye, just enough to keep them in check. Going too far would set an atmosphere of paranoia among the guardsmen and our other allies. I do not need that, not when we are facing the Plague Legions head-on."

"I wish we could've at least have one or two of your brothers to aid us." Captain Graves gave voice to his thoughts, "That would've set the odds at a favorable state."

"Don't we all?" Otho said, "Fret not, Brother Graves. We have the Primarch Horus Lupercal and the blessing of the Emperor, that is enough."

* * *

The Ynnari split their forces in two, one led by Yvraine as she made for Ultramar via the Webway, and the other led by the Visarch and the Prince of Corsairs. Horus was thankful that Yvraine stayed two of her lieutenants to keep the bloodthirsty drukhari mercenaries in line, he preferred not to worry about them while he was busy dealing with Mortarion and the Plague Legions.

The fleets, spearheaded by Maranda Goodwill's _Divine Fury_ , amassed in a thick walled formation across the system in preparation for the coming battle. Outposts had been erected on every planet, moon and asteroid- staging grounds for the Adeptus Mechanicus to set up their massive gun batteries to assist the fleets above. The defensive line was one even Rogal Dorn would be proud of, and even his sons gave testament to that fact, for the Imperial Fists Chapter and its successor chapters arrived on site to further bolster the ranks of the Lupercalian Battlefleets.

There was no sign of the _Phalanx_ among them, for the ancient star fort was currently undergoing reparation procedures due to many of its key systems failing and in no small part to its recent participation in the Defense of Cadia. But at the very least, to make up for its absence, the lesser star fortresses- pride of each Dornish successor chapter- made themselves available in the fight against Chaos.

On the other side, opposing the loyalist fleets, was the Daemon Prince Mortarion and his legions of innumerable measure. Aside from the usual daemonic entities, sycophants and traitor astartes, there was one other figure of note that emerged from the blackness of the darkest pits in the Realm of Chaos. Coaxed out of his daemon world of dark fortresses and towering murder-spires by the Herald of Nurgle, the Lord of Iron- the Daemon Prince Perturabo- joined forces with the blighted sons of Mortarion for the sole purpose of joining in the slaughter of the newborn Luna Wolves Legion, of whose very existence he viewed as an insufferable insult, and demanded correction.

With him came the Iron Warriors, all horrifically mutated from ten thousand years of exposure to the Warp's influence. Their astartes numbers were fewer than the legions of Mortarion, having taken heavy losses in the rituals committed to pave the way for the Daemon Prince Fulgrim's apotheosis. This, however, did little to reduce the threat they posed to the Battlefleets in their path. For what he lacked in manpower, Perturabo brought with him a hundred strong Titans, each fully customized to meet the demands of every kind of engagement- each created to assure the forces of Chaos their victory upon the sub-sector.

Once the reports of Perturabo's involvement came in, Horus surprised everyone in the war room when his otherwise passive face expressed genuine worry and concern. Now he knew why Yvraine asked for him to bring his best, for he would most certainly need them.

When the hour was upon them, the Battlefleet vox-channels issued a single message of encouragement from the Primarch leading them. Horus bade the soldiers under his command to take a minute, recall one beautiful moment in their lives, and hold it close to their hearts. He reminded them that though they first and foremost fought for the Emperor and each other, it is also those beautiful little things they held dear that they strove to protect. What lay before them sought to sully and destroy all in its path, "Brothers and sisters, this is where they stop. Believe in victory, and we will seize it."

"Here we go again." First Captain Thavos rumbled, donning his helm.

On the opposition's side, the Plague Legions and their Iron Warriors brethren were goaded onwards by their own dark patrons. Nurgle himself appeared, albeit partially, with a single disembodied hand that spanned an entire system away! The diseased bulk, made reality by the amassed corpses of fallen worlds and sacrificed fleets, extended itself and flexed its fingers that the index would signal his faithful armies forward. All who bore witness to the malevolent splendor of Nurgle were shaken to the core, but their faith in the Emperor was stronger, and though they recoiled in horror at first they made up for it with steely resolve.

"Tell me I'm not the only one seeing this." First Captain Otho Galatian said, astonished at what he was witnessing at the time.

"Holy shit." Horus muttered.

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 **There goes another update! Heehee, it's all finally coming together after such a long time fumbling around for a polished plot! BTW, I gotta know your opinion on something that might be a little inconsequential but at the same time might matter a whole lot in this particular fic. Okay, so the million-dollar question:**

 **Do Primarchs have dicks? :/**


	5. The Primarch's Fall

**Lol, I'm glad the general opinion's in favor of Primarch's having them. That's comforting, thank you for taking the time to answer.**

 **And now, introducing a barely mentioned faction ( and one I'm sure you all love )...y'know what, just read it :)**

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Bright lights danced across the beautiful purple nebula surrounding the backwater system, like little firecrackers bursting in the void, adding flavor to its splendorous canvas. One could mistake it as such, but on closer inspection one might just as easily recoil in abject horror after witnessing the violent exchange between the legions of man and the legions of rust and iron. For there was no more intense struggle than one fought between demigods, of whose actions were spurred even further by their patrons. As it was in the dark days, forgotten days, of the Horus Heresy. Battle-vessels discharged world-shattering cannons upon plague-ridden voidships, loyalists fought against traitors in a clash sure to shake the heavens. What once was a beautiful system of lush garden worlds, ocean worlds of crystalline waters, was then reduced to another war-torn blotch on the galactic map, filled with the corpses of both vessel and man.

As was the nature of this grim, dark future.

Horus Lupercal's defense was strong against the Plague Legion's onslaught, and due in no small part to exceptional quick thinking, he secured his forces' position upon Adeen through well constructed supply lines and strategically placed orbital and sub-orbital gun emplacements. And so, like the visions of the Prophetess Yvraine, they held the line. They did so for many solar months, until time passed to the point of years.

Unfortunately, as most things go in the 42nd Millennium, the violent exchange between the Imperium and the Plague Legions unearthed an ancient and terrifying foe. Yvraine had failed to see that Adeen was indeed a Necron Tombworld, and such failure resulted in the unintentional awakening of the undying mechanical legions. Bombarded severely and eroded after countless battle-vessels impacted upon its surface, Adeen shed its outer coating, revealing a staggering amount of Monoliths, half-buried Baleful Necropolises and scores of well-preserved necron warriors!

When the reports came in, Horus grew increasingly concerned.

There was no way he would abandon this system, even though he and his forces were clearly outnumbered three to one. The necrons would not side with either of them, for they were the living, and the undying would come to snuff out all organic life, be it Chaos or otherwise.

Aboard the poxfilth flagship of the Plague Legion, Mortarion relayed the news to all his allies, including the Lord of Iron Perturabo. His brother waved off the warning, promising that even the 'undying' necrons would feel the sting of death under the Iron Warriors' mailed fist. The battles had raged on for so long that Perturabo's patience for the conflict had worn out entirely, thus leading to streaks of reckless attacks, often resulting in higher casualties on his end than the loyalists they had slain. It mattered little to him, however, for his actions caused Khorne and even Slaanesh to smile upon his results. His hatred boiled beneath the surface, honoring the first patron, and his indulgence in the excess of his vindictive nature honored the latter.

He had their favor, and that was enough for him.

The day came when Perturabo had enough of the stalemate, and launched a brazen assault that left most of the Plague Legions' forces crippled from Horus' counterattacks, but in the end shattered a key position that allowed the Iron Warriors to establish a foothold that could break the defensive line keeping them in this damned system. Iron Warrior ships smashed into Dornish star-fortresses, spilling traitor astartes upon gun decks and overwhelming the defenders within hours. They, in turn, swiveled the gun batteries about and fired upon the battlefleets around them with extreme prejudice, overloading cores to the point that it turned star-fortresses into space mines, blasting whole squadrons and moons when their systems reached critical mass. A stream of calls for aid flooded the vox-channels, they were answered quickly as the Lupercal diverted one tenth of the defense forces to assist the overwhelmed defenders.

Joining the battle, like moths to the flame, the gathered necron legions boarded the first line of fully operational monoliths and assaulted both the Iron Warriors fleet and the Lupercalian battlegroups. The results were nothing short of a massacre, for the attack came as a surprise. Shrugging off heavy macro-cannon fire as though they were but rubber pellets, the monoliths let fly their particle whips and utterly decimated whole clusters to burning wrecks. Their goal was simple- destroy the living to make room for the awakening of the Tomb Worlds within the Adeen system.

Their attention, thankfully for the moment, focused on the Chaos vessels. The necrons were old adversaries with the forces of Chaos, and their ancient animosity showed in their choice of quarry, leaving the loyalist fleets ample room and opportunity for respite and reinforcements.

Supply lines were a mess, and the defense line was broken in many key positions that if the necrons had not intervened they would surely have allowed the Plague Legions to pass through unabated. Horus focused on rebuilding the positions with what he could, and then sent a message to nearby Imperial outposts to start sending replacements for the many his forces had lost in the conflict. The call received no reply, and so Horus returned his attention to the war, one that he and his allies would have to fight alone for the moment.

"My lord." Admiral Maranda asked one day as she and the Primarch got the chance to talk in private, "Do you ever think there is hope for your brothers, the ones who turned to Chaos?"

Horus looked down at the woman thoughtfully, but did not answer immediately. He regarded this one of the few allies who had emerged with him through the Battle for Cadia, one of the few who stood by him faithfully through the storms of time. Though her spirit burned as bright as the day he had met her, Maranda noticeably showed the marks of age. Gone was the youthful blush of her cheeks, replaced by wrinkled and scarred skin. Her hair, once a mane of oily black, now shimmered as white as clouds. Many commanders had come and gone, a select few reaching the age she had today, that in itself in this dark future was an accomplishment. "I've thought of that myself many times, Admiral. And honestly, I don't know how to answer that." He turned his gaze to the battles fought in the distance, watching the lights burst like tiny stars in the heavens. He thought of the two daemon princes he once called his brothers, both now eager to claim his head for their dark patrons, and of the others who waited in the depths of the Warp just as eager to kill him as Mortarion and Perturabo.

Konrad Curze was a madman who wanted to die. Fulgrim was too full of himself, so much that he thought he was too good for the Imperium. Magnus wanted knowledge above all, Tzeentch only had to show him the forbidden archives of his library and the rest is history. Lorgar wanted gods to worship, and found them in the Ruinous Powers. Alpharius and Omegon, well, he had no idea what they wanted so he assumed it was something equally evil as the rest. As for Angron, he just hated the Emperor, in more ways than one.

Horus opened his mouth to speak again, but his next words were interrupted as the alarm klaxons blared all over the ship. The pair swiveled around just in time to see a warp tear open up so dangerously close to the _Divine Fury_ and its squadron of battleships. Immediately, the battlefleet was showered with heavy macro-cannon fire as the Iron Warriors made one mad and desperate attempt to cut off the head of the defense armada keeping the Legions of Iron and Rust at bay. As the Primarch and his Admiral made haste to enter the bridge, Horus noticed a gargantuan monstrosity emerge from the Warp. It was so large that the daemon engine easily blotted out the Adeen system sun, casting a shadow so great that even Horus, who had seen much in his lifetime, recoiled in horror at the sight!

This was the _Nemacles_ , a fusion of daemon-flesh and living metal, cast in the shape of a monstrous lobster that bore the damnable blessings of the Four Ruinous Powers upon its shell. Aboard this vessel were the bound and twisted souls of thousands of enslaved machine-spirits, commanded by a single pilot- the Daemon Primarch Perturabo himself! Continent shattering warheads slammed into the _Divine Fury's_ hull, left unprotected as their shields were shattered by nullifiers built into the lobster's faceplate. The signal they sent was not one caused by mortal means, for even the astropaths aboard the _Divine Fury_ and every ship nearby, screamed in agony as their brains bled from the jamming waves.

 _"HORUS!"_ Perturabo bellowed, his vox-message grating hard as the lobster pushed the battlecruiser down onto Adeen Prime. _"I WILL HAVE WORDS WITH YOU!"_

Horus knew what that meant. Perturabo wished for a duel, but the Lupercal preferred not to have to do so if he could help it. "Admiral, could you get us out of this monster's grasp?" He asked calmly.

The bridge shook as gravity took hold. Glass and sparks flew up, cutting and scalding exposed skin as the crew worked feverishly to coax stubborn systems to action. Admiral Goodwill's expression was grim, and Horus knew he would have to resort to the old fashion way, by playing Perturabo's game. Adeen Prime would be the battleground, and for the sake of all that would survive the crash, he would have to fight with all he's got.

* * *

"Damnation." Corvus Corax muttered as he stared at the galaxy map. "What a fucking mess." He turned to his intelligence crew, "Are you certain these are all the worlds under their control?"

One nodded, "Yes, my Primarch. In my opinion, it is only natural for them to seek relief in whatever form. Hostile xenos and heretics beset them at all sides, and due in no small part to the incompetence of their Governors, they have had no protection whatsoever. The way I see it, conversion to the xenos' doctrine is more preferable than succumbing to the promises of the Warp."

"Yet their treachery remains evident, and demands correction." Corvus breathed, counting 1118 worlds for the Raven Guard and their successor chapters to retake from the Tau Empire. "Well, we'd better get to work. Listen close, all of you, I hate repeating myself." The Primarch relayed his plans for how to conduct the campaign upon the Damocles Gulf. His words were later interrupted, however, much to the annoyance of the Raven Lord, when news came from the capital concerning Horus and his quest for redemption.

"What is it?" Corvus snapped, "Speak!"

"My lord, the God-Emperor has been resurrected!" The messenger announced excitedly, "Horus brought back a goddess of old back from the Realms of Chaos, and even the Primarch Leman Russ!"

Corvus frowned, unsure what to say about the news. He was happy, that was true, but at the same time a little suspicious about that last part. "Tell me again what's happened. Show me the message." The story was again retold, of how Horus banded his men together with the Wolves of Fenris and wrested both Leman Russ and Isha from the Gardens of Nurgle. Thanks to this newly proclaimed 'Everqueen of Terra', his father was brought back from the brink of death and in so doing renewed the purpose of the Imperium entire. Leman Russ was back too, his arrival boosting morale significantly for the Space Wolves, who've waited his return for many years.

He saw the recording of the Emperor's speech on the coronation day, and his ire grew as he looked upon that radiant woman standing so close to his father's side. It was just too good to be true. Corvus knew from experience that there was always more to one than met the eye. What could be lurking beneath that shroud of benevolence?

The same could be said of the Tau that the Emperor had sent him to deal with. The conflict between the Raven Lord and the xenos began with negotiations, a truce requested on the Tau Ethereal's part. They did not wish to ignite another war against mankind, preferring coexistence with their more violent neighbors with whatever could be agreed upon. This, however, was an impossible request. Corvus needn't say it, but the words rang true.

Their ideals clashed. And more than anything, mankind hated the alien. It was a burning resentment that would forever be stoked within the hearts of every human in this unforgiving galaxy, and with good reason.

Peace talks were useless, war was inevitable.

Though Corvus admired the willingness of the Tau to press for harmony, he had a duty to the Imperium- and that was to retake the worlds the Tau had annexed from them in their darkest hour. With that, the negotiations were terminated, and the Ravenguard prepared for battle.

As did the Tau Fire Caste. Their warriors, under the command of Shas'O Shaserra- or better known as Commander Shadowsun in Low Gothic- poured in scores to defend their newly acquired worlds against the cunning legions of the Ravenguard. Shadowsun had faced many of mankind's greatest protectors in her lifetime, but all that experience was put to better use, she would never underestimate them especially now that they were led by a Primarch.

To add to the danger posed by the astartes, Shadowsun soon learned that the remodified gene-seeds of every legion in the Imperium had been implemented, and so now she faced not mere astartes- but Primaris marines! Though he at first recoiled at the prospect of having to 'replace' his sons, Corvus soon gave way to the modifications of his sons, and saw that the Emperor's decision was wise. They were better now than before, and he would use them to deadly purpose.

* * *

The _Nemacles_ had them in its grasp, and the inevitable plummet onto the planet below took away any hope of the _Divine Fury's_ escape. Horus would not abandon his crew, and went down with the ship to Adeen. The impact shattered the surface of the Maekn peninsula, a small collection of little islands that dotted the salt seas of the Tombworld and once acted as an Imperial outpost. As they fell, the newly awoken necrons below looked up in surprise, and scrambled to get clear of the approaching ships. Dust, stone and necrodermis corpses flew up in a cloud ring around the impact site, marking the battleground the two Primarchs would fight upon.

Hours later, the Luna Wolves emerged from the wreck of the downed ship to face the Iron Warriors, and found only the Lord of Iron and his coterie of Iron Warrior elite. The surprise attack was reported to the rest of the defense fleets, and reinforcements would undoubtedly be underway. What reason Perturabo had for this brazen assault could not be determined, and Horus became curious at the meaning of the Iron Lord's intentions, for even though the Iron Warriors had the high ground and the advantage of the _Nemacles'_ guns trained on them, not a single shell or bolt was shot their way.

"Perturabo!" Horus roared as he weaved through the crowd of Luna Wolves loyalists, coming to meet his brother in the middle of the crater that had formed from the _Divine Fury's_ collision. "You called for me? Well, here I am!"

He regarded the Lord of Iron closely, noted that even through the decaying influence of the Warp, not much had changed in his brother's face. The permanent frown was still there, the eyes that blazed with cold, indiscriminate hate stared at him. Only the dead man's pallor upon his skin reflected the death of all humanity within him, but then as Horus looked even closer, he noticed something in Perturabo's eyes that he never saw before.

The hate was still there, but Perturabo seemed to look a bit...tired?

"You wanted a duel?" Horus asked, drawing Soulrender. "Come then, have at me!"

Perturabo gazed down at him with contempt, "Is that the godkiller? Could it slay that which cannot be slain?"

"Yes, it can." Horus answered, bracing himself as Perturabo leaped off the _Nemacles'_ hull and onto solid ground. He then beckoned his sons to hold fire as he met the Daemon Primarch in single combat. Perturabo had a little bit of honor left in him, as shown by his decision to do the same, and smiled at his brother's answer. "Good." His wrist-combi bolters chattered noisily as a hail of plasmic-armor piercing warheads was sent Horus' way, which were then tossed aside like harmless pebbles by Horus' Nebula Gauntlet. The shells scattered to the sideline and detonated a few seconds later. The two titans closed the distance and met with equal fury. Soulrender struck Forgebreaker with a force powerful enough to sunder the hull of a great battleship, and the impact caused Perturabo to stagger. The Lord of Iron recovered quickly and slammed his fist into Horus' faceplate, shattering the Wolf of Terra's helm with one blow!

Horus reeled, broke away, and tore off the useless piece of equipment to meet Perturabo's gaze with his naked eyes.

"Hmph." Perturabo muttered, amazed at how young Horus looked in that body. The Lord of Iron swung his hammer in a wide arc, throwing Horus back as it struck Soulrender's shaft, nearly breaking the spear with a blow that could flatten a lesser astartes with a single swipe. All watched as the demigods exchanged blows, each set to kill the other, without much success. The temptation to intervene was great, but neither side wished to disobey their master's command. The Luna Wolves trusted their Primarch, the Iron Warriors feared theirs.

The latter, in fact, wished their own would perish in the duel.

"Such a waste. You came back, only to pledge yourself as a slave to the same tyrant!" Perturabo snarled contemptibly. "You could've been anything else; a ruler, a builder, even a father of many children! Instead, you groveled like one of the lesser sycophants, took on the mantle that was never meant for you and willingly embraced the role of the False Emperor's lapdog!"

Horus' brow arched at this, "Are you talking about me, or yourself?"

Perturabo paused in mid-swing, his stern composure breaking for one split second as he digested his brother's words, allowing Horus ample time to deliver a fatal blow- but Horus chose to twist his strike to buy his brother a few more moments to reflect on his choices, remembering Maranda's words earlier that day- and swept Forgebreaker free from Perturabo's hands.

Swiveling his attention back to the fight at present, Perturabo caught Soulrender's shaft with both hands and wrestled with his brother, all the while bellowing out the torrent of emotions bottled up within him. "What I wanted was so simple! Not to become a warrior, not to fight in wars that were not my own! I wanted to love, and be loved in return!" He boxed Horus in the face once, twice, and found himself flat on his back as he struggled to get his feet back under him. He raised his bolters at Horus and snarled, remembering the visions the Chaos Gods taunted him with concerning Horus' blessings, and that unique relationship he shared with the Saint. "You fell, farther than all of us combined, Warmaster!" The title again rung hollow and tasted as bitter as ash in his mouth, "Yet he rewarded you with all this?!"

In that moment of hesitation, Horus raised his spear, intent on driving it through Perturabo's treacherous heart. "We fight these wars because that is what we were born to do. I was rewarded only because I embraced it, not chafe against it as you have!" His eyes burned with anger, but also with pity. "You have fallen far, my brother, but it is not too late to turn back!" At that moment, Horus fought against the instinct of self-preservation. He knew he needed to kill Perturabo, but he also knew that one sliver of a chance that he could save him.

Once chance, and that was all he needed.

He lowered the spear, "Come back to us, Perturabo. There is much love left for you, and all your-

Suddenly, a shrill cry in the distance pierced the still air and shattered the intensity of that moment. A single leptonic particle beam lanced through reality and struck Horus from behind, tearing a massive hole through the back of his head and out of his right eye! The Primarch's expression froze on his face, and his arms fell lax. The Lupercal's one good eye rolled up until only white was shown, and his body toppled to the side, leaving Perturabo aghast at the unwanted intervention in the exchange.

"MY LORD!" One of Horus' First Captains cried, and the Luna Wolves opened fire, both at the Iron Warriors and the necrons rising up to deal with the living.

Perturabo's baleful glare turned to the sand mounds formed in the distance from the crash, watching the Deathmark necron assassin responsible for the attack rise from its hiding place, as if to taunt the Lord of Iron of some practical joke. Just as well, he would deliver that punch line.

"Kill them all!" Perturabo ordered, rising up to return to the _Nemacles._ Before he left, he looked down at the fallen spear and picked up Soulrender. Now armed with the godspear, the Lord of Iron walked back to the monstrous lobster and departed with his sons to return to the opposite side of the conflict. His mind turned to self-destructive thoughts, Perturabo gazed out at the disembodied hand of Nurgle and pondered on the new possibilities he could have with this weapon in his hands.

The godkiller. Now, that would be very useful indeed.

 **}!{**

 **And now, for the cliffhanger...**


	6. The Undivided Becomes Divided

**}!{**

The Luna Wolves were beyond angry now. The five remaining First Captains oversaw the recovery of their gravely injured Primarch from the battlefields of Adeen, and coordinated the formation of tight defense line around the Tombworld, locking it from inside and out. The necrons were beaten back to their cavern complexes, giving the defenders ample time to make repairs for the Primarch's flagship, time that they could use to decide what to do from here on out.

Thavos, Otho, Mordekai, Alduin, and Graves gathered around the medicae chapel, where the finest apothecaries and medical servitors in the legion's disposal were set to work on saving the fleeting life of the wounded Horus. Their expressions were grim, for the initial prognosis was not to their liking. A good part of his skull, and a chunk of the right hemisphere of his brain, had been blown away and seared clean. On the front side, Horus' eye had been vaporized along with the exit wound. There was no risk of infection, but the damage was severe, to say the least.

The Primarch's life hung by a thread, and it was fraying fast. When all means were exhausted, his body was immediately locked in stasis until an alternative was found.

"What are our odds in finding a solution for the Primarch?" Otho Galatian asked quietly.

"Slim, our resources are focused on the war effort." Alduin, Master of the Signal, replied. "There's not an Imperial Requisitions starfort for lightyears away. For as long as our Primarch rests within the stasis sphere, we're on our own."

"Which begs the question..." Otho said, "What do we do now?"

"We keep fighting without him." First Captain Graves declared, eyeing each one of his brothers seriously. "We've come far without the aid of a Primarch, we can do so again. Brothers, we shall take command of the defense fleets and continue the blockade. Primarch Horus Lupercal shall be transported out of the Adeen System and into Imperial space. We'll cover the escort fleet while they attempt to break off the formation."

"That is the wisest course of action, better than standing idle while the traitors tear at our sides." Alduin agreed, "The Primarch of the Iron Warriors stole the godspear Soulrender. Does anyone have an idea why?"

"You should know by now that Chaos needs no understanding, lest you fall prey to its temptations." Otho warned his elder brother, "What foul purpose Perturabo has for that weapon has to be stopped, as all others should. If he has it, rest assured we will wrest it away from his hands."

"Well then, we'd better get to work." Alduin declared, "I shall relay a message to Terra, and I sincerely hope it reaches them in time. The Emperor must know of what has happened here."

As the other captains went off to see to their duties, Otho turned towards the still body of his master and placed his hand on the edge of the slab. "Rest for now, my lord. We'll take care of the heretics in your stead."

* * *

Meanwhile, Mortarion learned of the fate of the Wolf of Terra and rejoiced at the culmination of his brother's efforts. Though Perturabo's actions were brash, in spite of himself, he managed to accomplish what many foes had never been able to- to lay Horus low as the Emperor had. The Primarch of the Deathguard threw his head back, and for the first time since the days of his youth, the grim and hateful Mortarion laughed.

"Horus has fallen, and soon his legions would follow their 'savior' to the grave!"

He called for a meeting with Perturabo, to both congratulate him and discuss their next move. His reply, much to Mortarion's dismay and surprise, was a sudden and overwhelming attack that broke the Plague Legions in half. The Iron Warriors went berserk, slaughtering the servants of Nurgle indiscriminately as they swarmed with all they had over the stupefied Deathguard. The _Nemacles_ , with Perturabo himself at the helm, dove in for the Plague Legion's flagship, ignoring the heavy miasma of acid eating away at its armor as the defending squadrons showered the mechanical monster with Virus bombs. The fortitude of the Iron Warriors proved to be their greatest weapon against the Deathguard assault, tenacious astartes met tenacious astartes as hangar bays opened, spilling forth kill teams against one another.

The other three of the Ruinous Powers approved greatly of the betrayal wrought by the hand of Perturabo, much to the chagrin of Nurgle, whose territories in the Realm of Chaos were now being invaded by both the forces of Tzeentch and Khorne due to his absence and obsessive impulse to reclaim his lost bride. And there, the undivided became divided. As everchanging as Chaos could be, former allegiances were sundered, and the need for conflict reignited within the hearts of all.

From his blackened halls of antiquity, the Deceiver hurled forth his challenge and sent his vast legions, renewed with arcane might, to change the Plague Gardens closest to his realms to become his own. Rushing to the opportunity, bellowing orders to his greatest daemon princes, including Angron himself, Khorne raced against Tzeentch to spread the Brass Domain further than the God of Change could reach. And Slaanesh, drunk on the river of souls flowing into her kingdom, sat back and enjoyed the show.

Perturabo stood upon the wreck of the _Nemacles_ , which had crashed and brought with it the vessel carrying the Deathguard Legion's Primarch and his Deathshroud guardians to a nearby moon called Lonos- in a similar manner as he had with Horus. Upon Lonos, the hateful Perturabo revealed his true intent.

The Primarch of the Iron Warriors wanted to die. He had hoped that facing Horus down upon Adeen Prime, he would've gained that long sought peace. Alas, again and again he was denied what Konrad Curze was so fortunate to have. The Ruinous Powers would not have him killed, not while he bore their names in his very soul. And so Perturabo took solace in the fact that though he could not die by his own hand, he would at least be able to somewhat spite his own patrons...

...by killing their champions in the most inopportune moments, and suffer them an ignoble end. It just so happened that Nurgle's crucial campaign to reclaim Isha was the perfect opportunity to, as planned, spite him the most. Here, he would turn against his brother Mortarion and sunder his legions from reality with the godspear Soulrender.

If they kill him, and if his patrons will him to live once more, he can just do it all over again. If not, then he would have his peace.

The darkness of Lonos soon became a storm of muzzle flash and thunder, pierced by the screams of the dying and the high-pitched screeching of diseased minds that had lived far beyond human sanity for centuries. As the battle raged on, the Legionaries took to using mounds of their own dead as cover from the sweeping hellish rays, and rallied again and again to charge the blackly glittering judgement engines, suffering the Plague Legions' murderous fury to plant Krak Grenades or discharge point-blank Melta blasts to bring their enemies down. It was then that Perturabo struck.

Having observed the unfolding battle, his superhuman intellect had discerned patterns and vulnerability amid the chaos and din of war, and had calculated the precise point at which to attack to the greatest effect. The Primarch himself struck the ranks of the Plague Legions like a thunderbolt, throwing them into disarray. Like a vengeful god he ploughed into the heart of them, blasting and burning them, ripping their machine-frames, their daemon hordes, their diseased and bloated armor apart and tearing out the withered bodies from within with his own gauntleted hands.

"PERTURABO!" The baleful, furious voice of Mortarion rang clear through the air as he swooped down from on high to face his brother directly. His manreaper arched high, and he cut low and clean across the Lord of Iron's chestplate as he crashed down to earth. His tattered wings threw aside Perturabo's obliterators, and his scythe bisected the automata guardians standing between them. Through his mask, Mortarion could see the glow of the stolen godspear held in Perturabo's hand, and his eyes narrowed. "You would defy the Ruinous Powers?"

Perturabo shrugged, and answered grimly. "Where others have accepted their lot, I have chafed and rebelled. I've merely embraced that aspect of my humanity, as I should have done a long long time ago."

"A little late for that, don't you think?!" Mortarion snarled. "You are damned to this existence, just like me!"

Perturabo laughed a short and humorless laugh as he parried Mortarion's swing, "We drown in a whirlpool of our own making, I'm merely pushing you beneath me so I could gasp my last breath!"

"Then I hope it was worth it!" The Plague Lord cried out in fury, "For if I emerge victorious in this battle, I will rain every suffering and affliction imaginable upon your soul!"

"Then come at me, brother!" Perturabo retorted, charging straight for the Daemon Prince of Nurgle with Soulrender raised to strike.

* * *

Heavy footfalls echoed through the hallowed corridors of the Imperial Palace's inner sanctum. Primarch Leman Russ of the Space Wolves had summoned all his sons to rally together in the Solar Segmentum's outer junction that they may begin the task set before them by the Emperor, which was to seek for his missing brother Lion El'Johnson, to pick up where Horus left off. Earlier that week, Leman chafed at the order, feeling himself once again become a pawn in his father's game. He had plans to hunt down Magnus, plans that may never come to fruition if this task would be undertaken. The Emperor knew his son well, but did not chastise him for his rebellious thoughts. Instead, he gently reminded Leman that his time for vengeance would indeed come, but that he had a duty to the Imperium to strengthen it by at least restoring one of their greatest defenders- the Dark Angels and their successor chapters. The Wolf of Fenris' temper cooled, somewhat, at that.

He came now to take his leave, and depart for The Rock. Accompanied by his friend, the restored Felhanded Bjorn, and the shaggy Chapter Master Logan Grimnar, Leman Russ entered the Throne Room.

He saw the Emperor sitting quietly upon his Golden Throne, looking better than before as his Everqueen kept feeding his soul with her life-giving essences. Isha sat at his feet with her arm casually leaning upon his thigh. At the foot of the stairs stood Saint Celestine, and gathered around the Throne itself were the summoned commanders and officers of the Imperial Guard, the Adeptus Custodes, and the Sisters of Battle. Saint Celestine glanced back at the noise of the creaking gilded doors, and Leman saw her bloodshot eyes, indicative of her emotional strain over some bad news.

"What's happened?" The Wolf Lord asked.

The Emperor leaned back, his expression grown sorrowful. "A message from the Adeen Campaign has been intercepted. Your brother Horus has been mortally wounded in the battle against Perturabo."

Leman growled, "But is Perturabo dead?"

The Emperor shook his head, "The war rages on. The Luna Wolves have taken a heavy toll, it's only a matter of time before their defenses fail and the Plague Legions come for Terra."

To say that Celestine was livid would be an understatement, and the Saint cried, "The heretics will pay dearly for what they've done! My Emperor, grant me your blessing, send me to the front that I may bring your holy flame to purge the taint from the Adeen Systems!"

"Count me in on that as well!" Leman snarled, "The Space Wolves are ready!" There were murmurs of agreement among the astartes of Fenris.

"I need you elsewhere." The Emperor declared. "Do not forget the task I have set before you, Leman."

"But Father! The Luna Wolves and the Sons of Dorn must not stand alone in this!" Leman Russ objected.

"They won't." The Emperor replied, "I will go." All eyes turned to the god as he rose up from his gilded chair, astonished at his words. They had not expected the Emperor to wish for a direct confrontation with the traitor legions, they had many heroes to answer that call. He needn't claim the honor himself, "The time for recovery is finished. I must now take a more active part in the war against Chaos."

"My Emperor, my lord, what of the Golden Throne?" The commander of the Adeptus Custodes asked, not at all wishing to have to deal with another daemonic incursion so soon after the last one had been beaten back. "If you leave to fight, who shall sit upon it to keep the Imperial Webway from collapsing entirely and unleashing the daemon hordes against us once more?"

To answer his concerns, the Everqueen replied, "I shall sit upon the Throne in his place."

The Emperor's brows furrowed, and he looked down at his queen, reminding her of the enormous burden she would have to bear should she attempt to sit upon the Golden Throne. She understood this fully, of course, for there was no other alternative. The Imperial Webway's network had to be maintained by the gilded seat, and while it remained unfinished and the safety wards were incomplete, that was the only way it could be stabilized. "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?" The Emperor asked, taking Isha's hand in his. "I would never force anything on you, but I need to know- do you understand the gravity of this?"

"I do." Isha answered, squeezing his hand in return. "The Throne demands life in return for power. I _am_ the Goddess of Life. Go, your son needs you."

The Emperor sighed in resignation, rose up and stepped away from the Throne. The Everqueen took his place, she shivered as the wires snaked along her slender naked arms and snapped into place. Isha looked up at her savior and smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry about me, love. My fortitude belies my good looks." The Emperor did not smile at the jest, his jaw set itself with his determination. He would not have her sit there for too long, that was his promise.

"I will return soon. Wait for me." The Emperor said, taking his leave to address the eager battlefleets gathered around the capital world.

The Everqueen nodded, "Be safe." Once the doors closed, the Goddess sighed deeply and fought against the desire to fall asleep. She had not counted on the near-insatiable psychic hunger of the Golden Throne, and as she fed the ancient machine she hoped inwardly that she had not overestimated her own capacity to endure. Her hands clenched tightly, and her breathing labored. Sweat started to form at the edges of her brow, and her lips became taut with determination.

She had survived worse, endured far worse than this. For the sake of billions of lives upon this world, she had to hold on.

"So this is what the weight of the throne feels like." Isha whispered.

 **}!{**

 **A/N: I'll admit I've been putting off the arc about the Dark Angels all this time because I'm so confused by the lore behind them. Now, I'm confident enough to write what I've understood about it all ( sorry Dark Angels fans, I'll do my best ), fingers crossed, please don't flame me if I get something wrong.**

 **Thanks :)**


	7. Dusk Falls

**}!{**

"Do you see something?"

The Pathfinder rose up from the dense underbrush to peek out at the approaching convoy of obsidian black human transport tanks. "Yes, my friend. A human convoy, I count almost twenty strong, heading for the village's outer marker." The Tau scout squinted his eyes, focusing his visor even closer to the coat-of-arms that adorned the metal boxes rumbling down the dirt road. It was the symbol of the famed Ravenguard. "They are Ravenguard spacemarines! Quickly, we must warn the Shas'O!"

They froze as a chilling voice, grating over its vox-grill, growled. "Death from above."

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the Pathfinders' position. Three Ravenguard assault marines dropped out of the sky, brandishing roaring chainswords as they descended upon the hapless xeno scouts. Their commander saw them from a mile away, and moving away just made them easier to spot. The Tau put up an embarrassing front as the marines engaged them in the melee, and soon fell to the biting teeth of their chainswords.

The Land speeders sped down the mountainside and halted next to the assault squad, heralding the arrival of the Raven Lord himself. Corvus Corax's bike roared into view, his keen eyes surveyed the heavily fortified citadel just beyond the ruins of human population centers and desolate villages. The locals had been corralled for re-education, they had been in the past month, for the sole purpose of dissuading them from their faith in the Imperial Creed. Corvus frowned, holding the Tau in utter contempt for their hypocrisy.

They mask their true nature with benevolence, hiding a vile truth that spelled tyranny and oppression. The Tau were slavers, and the gullible humans here were willing slaves. Corvus would save them if he could, but there would be no mercy for the xenos. "Forward." He said to his men, "We attack swiftly. Pick your targets and take the city. Kill everything that isn't human."

"And those converts who fight back?" A sergeant inquired.

Corvus looked at him nonchalantly and revved his bike.

"Understood, my Primarch." The sergeant acknowledged, turning back to the convoy as the Ravenguard prepared to disembark. "Brothers, begin the bloodshed."

The Ravenguard converged on the enemy outer defense perimeter in a loose formation, purposely done to avoid getting hit by Tau sentry turrets and Broadside battlesuits. The Tau never expected the Imperium to make planetfall on such a heavily fortified world such as Olanis II, which the xenos had claimed for their fast growing empire in the past month. The Despoiler's assault on Cadia bought them the time they needed to stake claim on Imperial soil, and Commander Shadowsun wasted no time bolstering her defenses as best as their stream of resources would allow.

Unfortunately, Shadowsun was no oracle, and she as any mortal creature in the universe was prone to ignorance. Corvus Corax exploited this fatal flaw and attacked Olanis and its sister worlds in one swift campaign that simultaneously involved every related system in the sector. Shadowsun's orbital defenses, interplanetary patrols, and fleets responsible for distributing supplies in and out of the sector, vanished. It was as if Corvus and his sons transcended the mortal plane for a day and became ghosts, hungry wraiths that snuffed out the light of life wherever they passed.

These same ghosts rolled into the citadel of Olanis II, the xenos-controlled fortress of Lraun'Isva, where thousands upon thousands of Tau coexisted with billions of unwilling human converts. The alarm klaxons did not blare, only the screams of fear from the dying Fire Caste troopers and XV-88 operators filled the air, rousing the defenders of the fortress walls from their stupor and into battle. Heavy Rail Rifles swiveled down from the shoulders of the towering Tau mech-suits, hated weapons of the Tau by the adeptus astartes for its ability to even render the gene-seed useless upon impact. Each spacemarine that died from a blast from those twin-linked weapons, so in turn, had killed the next generation of spacemarines with him.

The battlesuits came about, locked onto their targets, and fired. Thought many were killed in the salvo that followed, the Ravenguard quickly closed the distance and violently tore the Tau pilots out of their suits. Practiced hands mauled and crushed the tiny xenos in their fingers, and the spacemarines moved on to their next victims.

"Shas'la! Drive the invaders back!" Tassen, the commander in charge of the fortress cried, raising his cannon high for all to see. "FOR THE GREATER GOOD!"

The Fire warriors, in turn, cheered and rushed to take positions at the outer perimeter. Though Tau marksmanship was commendable for alien standards, the young and foolish race paled in comparison to the untold years of experience on the Ravenguard's part. They had the higher ground, the distance and the safety of their reinforced walls- but not the momentum. The Primarch himself rode in the front of the charging horde of nightmare black giants, upon a warbike that was speeding directly for a half-buried guardsman transport truck that would act as its ramp. Corvus made a hell of a display with his entrance, and pushed his bike to its max speed. As the Tau plasma fire rained down upon him from the walls, Corvus leaped off of his bike and glided swiftly on wings of steel across the wall. His wings severed the heads of the Tau warriors he passed through, and as he landed upon solid ground, Corvus unraveled his whip and lashed out against an approaching kroot the size of an ork Nob.

"Corvus Corax!" Tassen snarled as he ran keep a great distance between himself and the Primarch, owing to Tau physiology that severely impaired depth-perception and kept them from engaging in the melee at all- which in this case was one of Corvus' greatest assets. "I'd thought the Despoiler would've given you enough reason to stay away from the Damocles Gulf!"

Corvus didn't bother learning the name of the alien, he had known too many to remember now. Besides, he wasn't important. "Oh, you confuse me with my brother Horus, but that's fine. You've got the Imperium's attention now, alien." His whip recoiled, and his claws extended out of his gauntlets. "Get over here."

The distinct cry of an outraged Greater Knarloc in the distance made Corvus' lip twitch in annoyance, and as the monster rounded the corner, Corvus realized that Tassen had already disappeared, using the same tactics he and the Ravenguard used- distraction and misdirection. "Hmph, clever little monkey." The Primarch used his wings to cover himself as the Tau warriors swarmed in over him like a hornet hive shaken out of their home, stopping their barrage only to let the kroot Carnivores to leap onto Corvus from all sides.

With their focus diverted from the walls to the Primarch, the Ravenguard easily overwhelmed the outer perimeter and gained access to the gates. Once it was destroyed, tanks and speeders came pouring in to being the citadel's reclamation. Their eyes took in their Primarch as he easily swatted away the kroot and dispatched the Tau Fire warriors with bursts from his wrist combi-bolters. What came as an amusing display was Corvus' encounter with the lumbering monster that was the Knarloc. The beast could not distinguish danger from prey, it only smelled the delicious scent of human flesh from beneath the Primarch's armor, owing to its sharp olfactory senses, but very poor eyesight.

It did not see Corvus leap away with ease as it made a blind charge forward. It did not see Corvus' lightning claws reach for its heavily pulsating veins stemming from its exposed throat. It felt the weight of the superhuman upon its back, the pain of a thousand bolt rounds exploding all at once against its outer shell, to which it responded with an angry roar. Corvus quickly sliced at every artery and vein he could find, and allowed the rivers of blood flowing out of the alien warbeast's body to do his work for him.

He leaped off, and charged for the middle of the fortress to hunt down Tassen and the rest of the defenders.

As he rounded the corner, Corvus and his men met a large contingent of Tau warriors, though these ones were noticeably more fearful than the rest of their kin. Corvus' baleful steel eyes took in the monocular red eyes of their helmets, the shared symbol of the Tau upon their pauldrons and chest, and then the plasma rifles that were gripped so tightly between trembling fingers.

The astartes responded the only way they knew how. Their massive arms trained their bolters at the enemy and fired. The scrawny alien bodies danced in the heavy rain of bolter fire, sometimes coming apart like wet paper in the autumn downpour. Their blood began to collect under their bodies where they fell, and the spacemarines stepped over them to inspect what they were guarding so desperately. Corvus Corax looked up and saw a massive chapel, once dedicated to the Emperor and now was adorned with heathen statues of Tau Ethereals and alien banners, all of which were hastily torn down by the liberators as they moved about to finish their job. The Primarch looked down at the entrance to the chapel and took a deep breath.

His boot launched against the heavy ornately carved pair of doors, forcing them open to reveal the Tau. To his surprise, what he found behind those doors were not Tau warriors...

But Tau women and children, herded together with human women and children.

"Papa!" A lone man child with hair as black as onyx ran away from his mother's arms, not even caring for the giants that stood in his way as he passed the gates, heading for one of the Tau Fire warrior bodies slumped against wall in a pool of its own blood. The astartes turned to see this scene unfold, watched as the child wept, with his hands moving to uncover the helmet to reveal a human face beneath the visor. The child looked up at his 'saviors' and cried out, "You killed my Papa! Why? Why did you kill him?" Now he knew why the warriors hesitated so much. They were _all_ human, and recognized the angels of death.

Corvus was stunned by what he saw, and he looked back at the people in the chapel in despair. His silence was mistaken by his sons as fury, and the Ravenguard opened fire.

The brilliance of the bolter flashes in Corvus' face further revealed the horror in the Primarch's face, and his voice thundered above the rattle of gunfire as he commanded his sons to cease. "STOP!" His lips formed a thin line as he gazed around at the results of his sons' judgement. Not a single human in the room was killed, only the Tau women and children, due to the exceptional restraint and marksmanship of the spacemarines. The Ravenguard looked up at their gene-sire in confusion, for they only knew he had given them an explicit command before the assault, and were not carrying it out to the letter.

Corvux knew this, and his frustration only doubled. His fists balled up, and he turned away from the carnage.

"'Liberator'." He spat the name, "That is what they called me, not 'Butcher'."

* * *

"Father, we're coming out of the gate!" Senua reported, rousing her parents from their slumber as the little ship burst out of the Webway and into realspace. With a smile adorning her young face, the half-breed piloted them out of the breach and away from the collection of asteroids floating around them. "A smooth ride, a good omen."

"I never taught you to believe in omens, little one." Liivi grunted, looking disapprovingly at his wife as he slipped away from her embrace. That was one thing he and the Farseer disagreed upon. Whereas Taldeer believed in the foreseeable futures, Liivi firmly held that fate was whatever one desired to make. His destiny, all their destinies, were in their hands- an old human belief and one he stubbornly clung to. He leaned over her shoulder and looked out of the cockpit, "Have we arrived where we should be?"

"Calmainoc." Taldeer breathed in relief as she caught sight of the Ulthwe Craftworld harbor, "We are safe now."

Liivi, ever the cautious one, did not rejoice just yet. "We will see. Little one, keep our distance. We must let the reception reach out to us, in case of a disturbance."

Senua looked up at the Vindicare, "Father?" She did as was asked, but failed to note the cause for concern. Liivi had seen it many times before, and preparing for it kept him alive for this long. He looked about for any sign of danger, then calmed down somewhat when he saw twin aeldari frigates come to meet the smaller craft. Ancient aeldari worlds blasted out of the speakers, demanding that Taldeer identify herself or risk summary execution.

"I am Farseer Taldeer of Craftworld Ulthwe..." Taldeer felt the hollow words roll uncomfortably out of her tongue, for it had been almost a lifetime since she was an active member of the council. "...I have come to seek refuge among my kin, for myself and my family...please, let us in."

Her request, at first was met with an amused and very callous answer, one that came with a refusal. But minutes later, someone pulled a few strings and allowed the family entry. Only then did Liivi heave a sigh of relief, although his ever-cautious mind scrutinized all that his eyes laid gaze on. The family docked onto the harbor and disembarked, where Taldeer soon met an old and welcome face- her bother Ronahn.

"Uncle Ronnie!" Senua squealed, causing a number of heads to turn as she ran up to jump into her uncle's arms. The ranger pulled down his cowl and smiled, bending one knee to receive his beloved niece. Ronahn was above arrogance, he cared not that his sister married a mon'kei or birthed a half-breed, he still didn't. They were now his flesh and blood, and so he treated both with the same respect he showed his sister.

"My my, little Senua!" He kissed her forehead, "How you've grown! Look at you now! You've certainly inherited all of your mother's best traits." He referred to the girl's beautiful green eyes, and those bountiful locks of auburn hair. Liivi's chiseled cheekbones and chin further accentuated the aeldari features on his niece's face, prompting Ronahn to wonder why the general opinion on mon'kei relations was so low. He turned to her father and grabbed his forearm firmly, "And, Liivi! How are you?"

"Still alive." The man replied.

"I've heard you were coming, so I wasted no time using up all the favors I have with the nobility, persuaded them to permit you entry."

"By persuasion, you mean holding them at gun-point." Taldeer corrected, brow arched in suspicion.

"Dear sister!" Ronahn feigned offense, "How could you accuse me of such a thing! No, of course not, I can be very friendly when I need to be."

"In our case, it is much appreciated." Liivi cut the the chase, "I owe you one for this."

"You're family now, Liivi." Ronahn said seriously, "You don't owe me anything." He cleared his throat, "Now, let's get you settled. I'm sure you've been exhausted after such a long trip." As the family moved their belongings away from the harbor and into the bustling city of the Craftworld within the Webway, Ronahn did his best to shield little Senua from prying eyes, failing miserably as it served only to draw further attention to the half-breed.

The reaction, of course, was predictable.

"Filthy half-breed! What is that thing doing here?"

"It must be a pet, or slave? Do we still allow slaves these days?"

"Ancestors, no! Don't be absurd, we're not sinking to the level of those drukhari scum!"

"Ignore them, my dear." Ronahn whispered to Senua as he pushed her along, "They don't know it, but you being human makes you a thousand times better than the rest of them combined."

"Never thought I'd hear that from an eldar." Liivi couldn't help but remark.

"Under pain of death, swear to me you will never tell anyone of this."

Liivi smirked and raised his hand in reply, "Sworn and upheld, my friend."

The ranger brought them to a small housing block with two rooms, complete with a balcony that had a nice view of an artificial fountain in the park outside and a set of recreational pods to use for entertainment. "Here you are! I hope it's not too cramped, this is after all a Craftworld, not an actual world." Ronahn said. "Now then, sister. I think it's time we had that much needed chit-chat between us."

"Mother?" Senua asked, noticing her mother's brow furrow in concern. She never liked that look, the same one she always wore when Senua had been naughty, or more recently, had that look when she decided to go after her father in the forest when the drukhari attacked their home.

"Stay here, darling." Taldeer replied, "I have important business to handle with your uncle. I won't be long."

The two departed, leaving Liivi with his daughter as they walked off into the park. The Farseer took in the beautiful craftsmanship of the architects of the Craftworld, and marveled at the little things they managed to build in this refugee colony. Ronahn had news, in equal portion of good and bad. "Sister..."

Taldeer went first, "Ronahn, is it true? Our goddess, Isha, she has been reclaimed?"

Ronahn kept his question for later, "Yes, though now she stands as a goddess of the Imperium. The Mon'kei Emperor's sons brought her out of the Gardens of Nurgle and through their actions in turn brought him back to life. I've confirmed it for myself- the End Times are upon us. Now, the armies of Pestilence and Decay march to do battle against mankind, and in so doing stir the other forces of Chaos to life. She-who-thirsts grows stronger each day, and it won't be long before she comes for us all..."

"I know, but we will be ready." Taldeer looked around, pausing to admire the little things, those same things she missed in her long life as Farseer.

"Now, sister..." Ronahn prepared his own question, "...about Senua."

Taldeer looked at him but waited for him to finish.

"You told me about your vision, about your death..." Ronahn looked pained to say it, "...are you absolutely certain?"

Taldeer nodded, "If it happens, my daughter will become the most powerful seer in the Craftworld..."

"And if it doesn't?"

Taldeer shook her head, "Then the Craftworld will be destroyed."

Ronahn sighed and turned his gaze outward, to the lights dancing in the artificial skies of the refuge. "As is the nature of visions, we're fucked either way."

* * *

The Emperor of Mankind stood in the middle of a large, dimly lit chamber full of all manner of weaponry hailing from long forgotten eras and ages past. This was the Emperor's Arsenal, his personal storage chamber for the many tools of destruction he had constructed over his very long lifetime as master of mankind. For the first time since his total immersion into the Imperial Webway project, for the first time since his integration into the Golden Throne, the Emperor opened the vault to arm himself for the confrontation against his traitor sons.

And now, he faced a serious dilemma- which weapon to use for the occasion.

His eyes scanned the many pedestals and racks that held swords, guns and spears of every size and craft- both mortal and warpcraft, unknown and alien. They all had a story behind them, a memory of when he first wielded each weapon, as well as the many victims they claimed. He took in the relics of the Age of Strife, the very kind he locked away from the greedy hands of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and considered them all, only to change his mind at the last second. In frustration, the Emperor turned his heel and strode for the exit, almost opting to enter battle with only his psychic abilities to defend himself against the powers of Chaos.

But that too, he changed his mind about.

For the last time, the Emperor turned around and gazed at a particular pedestal that held twenty silver swords that had their hilts overlaid with intricately carved gold. The Emperor remembered when he first used these blades, and it was on the earliest days of the Age of Strife, when he first commanded his Thunder Warriors and led mankind out of those dark times. Attuned to his mind as if they were his own limbs, the blades emerged from the pedestal, gliding smoothly to form a floating halo over his body. Once they were psychically reconnected to him, the blades pressed together to form two wings over the Emperor's shoulders. The Emperor smiled at this saying, "Hello there, old friends." They were called the 'Emperor's Words', for the Emperor himself was fond of metaphors, owing to the old saying that words cut deeper than swords. Unfortunately, nobody got the reference, much to the Emperor's exasperation.

As he began locking up the vault, another artifact caught his eye on the way out. It was a simple and crude device, a metal fist fixed with a chainsaw on the back of its hand that never saw a good scrubbing nor fresh oiling. The blood of the daemons it had slain still gleamed red upon its steel teeth.

"Meh." The Emperor shrugged, "Maybe some other time."

 **}!{**

 **Did you get the reference? XD Please tell me you did!**


	8. A Father's Pain

**Haha! Finally, someone got the reference! It is indeed referring to Chainsaw-Warrior, not really popular these days, but an all time favorite of the nerdiest of Warhammer GW nerds ( namely, me ). Thanks for taking the time to figure it out, enjoy the update- Big E's finally getting back in the game.**

 **}!{**

Never before, since the day he left the Great Crusade to the capable hands of the Warmaster Horus, had the Emperor decided to soil his hands directly in battle. He didn't bother gathering a large fleet, or wait for his most loyal warriors to converge on Terra to pledge themselves to his cause, but instead took what little ships he had at his disposal and immediately left for the frontlines. What he did bring, however, were technological relics of mankind's glorious past that could aid in healing his wounded son's injury. That, and a parting gift from the goddess who now sat upon the Golden Throne- a crystallized tear from Isha's eye that she claimed carried a faint sliver of her own healing essences that could mend any wound no matter how grievous. Though the Emperor was skeptical about her claim, he gratefully accepted her gift, and left a kiss as his own in return.

Adding to his retinue of advisors, honor-guard Adeptus Custodes and elite, were the Sisters of the Our Martyred Lady Order that were personally led by the Saint Celestine herself. She would not stand idly while her beloved's life hung by a thread, the Saint would see to his security and would have her vengeance after. The Emperor allowed her to come along, seeing as how useful her anger would be in the coming battle.

They journeyed through the Warp with all haste, and as it turned out, the power of a god sped them through the Empyrean faster than any fleet could go. Power of a god, or simply just an anxious father fearing for his favored son's welfare. The Emperor of Mankind hurled the fleet through the roiling seas of rage, despair and ecstasy, so hard that the ancient gellar field generators fluctuated violently and threatened to fail altogether! No pilot dared to plead for the Emperor to slow down, for they too knew the risks of stopping now. But as the ships shuddered and groaned from the repeated hammerings from all sides, the Emperor's lips grew taut and his eyes narrowed. He willed the oceans to be calmed, and from there their ride through the storms became smooth- something that could never be attributed to the Warp. He realized their efforts would be wasted if he weakened them through the journey through the Empyrean, and so he allowed caution to guide his hands rather than passion.

Soon, they arrived on Adeen, and just in time to see the defense line erected by the Lupercal strain against the assault of the Plague Legions and their ally-turned-enemy, the Iron Warriors.

The gilded Emperor-class Battlecruisers, the famed _Bucephelus_ and the long-thought-lost flagship of the Emperor, the _Imperial Dream,_ burst through the warp tear like two angry bulls ripping through the fences of an arena. His presence alone forced a ceasefire for one brief moment as every scanner, every eye and every mind suddenly became aware of the renewed god in the midst of the titanic battle. The Emperor stood upon the deck of the bridge and glared down at the traitors who had long forsaken their humanity and sworn allegiance to the dark powers of the Warp, his voice carrying out like a peal of thunder across the vox-channels and the minds of all present as he roared forth his challenge.

 _ **"Despair, vile servants of Chaos, for I am here!"**_

 _"Glory to the Emperor!"_ The sons of Dorn and the Luna Wolves cheered in response.

 _"Death to the False Emperor!"_ The agents of the Ruinous Powers howled. Their ships, as anticipated by the Master of Mankind, abandoned their battles with the star-fortresses and swarmed in on the Emperor's battlefleet like hornets stirred out of their nests. The Emperor did not flinch, having seen this maneuver a thousand times over, and instantly counter-attacked to the dismay of the traitor assailants. Warheads and super-heated plasma sundered whole ships apart, spilling their contents out into the void of space for the interceptors to deal with. Whenever one of Perturabo's abominable creations wormed its way into the thick of battle, the Emperor channeled the eldritch forces within his soul into a massive bolt of lightning and hurled it out of the bridge to reduce the creature into ashen scrap.

Though half his mind focused on the battle around him, the Emperor focused the other half on locating his son Horus amidst the sea of minds scattered across the galaxy. He took a moment, closed his eyes and searched hard for that fading soul.

There, he found the weakened Lupercal, barely holding on upon that metal bed encased in a stasis field. When he saw him, the Emperor's face contorted in agony. "Oh Horus..." He could not bear to look at the ruined face where the leptonic lance struck him, and yet he did. Again, as he did with every death of each of his fallen sons, the Emperor felt the pain of an aggrieved parent. His fingers clenched hard into a fist, and the Emperor bowed his head as he wrestled with the violent urge to hurl himself out into the fields of battle to destroy all those responsible for this act.

"My Emperor?" An Custodes approached his master, noticing his agonized expression.

"Summon Celestine!" The Emperor roared suddenly as he threw the man a look that could reignite a dying star, "Quickly!"

The Custodes nodded fearfully, unused to seeing his lord so angry for the first time in ten thousand years. "S-She is already here, my lord."

Celestine stood silently before her master and awaited his command.

"My daughter." The Emperor's voice shakily said, "See to my son's recovery. Take the relics, and the Tear of Isha, do whatever it takes to bring Horus back."

"Yes my lord." Celestine turned heel and left the ship to see to her lover's body, leaving the Emperor alone to command his battlefleet to put an end to this battle.

His eyes glared up at the disembodied hand of Nurgle that led the never-ending tide of Plague Legions forward, one of the cruel gods of Chaos responsible for causing so much pain upon his people- and Isha. As his thoughts turned dark, the Emperor's swords rang audibly through the air as they hovered behind him. His mind searched through the myriad of souls waging war upon Adeen, and his attention caught on to the ones right smack in the middle of it all. He recognized Perturabo, for even as much resentment as his other sons held for him, there stood no soul that harbored as much pain as the Lord of Iron.

"Helmsmen, cut a swath through there." He commanded, "Give me room for a meeting of steel with my traitor sons."

"Understood my lord."

* * *

When he tore through their ranks and parted them like a searing hot blade through flesh, their confusion blinded them to the apparent threat posed by that single gilded vessel that shone with the light of a newborn star. What followed was an immense psychic presence that seemed to devour the very essence of Chaos upon the material plane, and thus severely weakened the legions of Rust and Iron. They understood, too late, that the tables had turned. The Emperor of Mankind was here, and the siege had been broken.

Beset at one side by the Plague Legions, and by the newly awakened necrons on the other, the Iron Warriors found little comfort in realizing that the final blow to be dealt upon them had come.

To Perturabo, it had come at long last, for he had waited this challenge all his life.

He had dueled with Mortarion, following the aftermath of his meeting with Horus, over the past few days, both Daemon Primarchs emerging neither the winner of the struggle. Though Mortarion had been dealt grievous wounds that would've killed him at the blade of the Soulrender, the Chosen of Nurgle limped back to the safety of the Warp to regain his strength- much to the disappointment of his opponent. And now before him stood the Emperor of Mankind, the father who birthed him and now forever lost him to the powers of Chaos. Just as much as he hated Horus, jealous over everything he had been given and never even deserved, he shared that same feeling against the Master of the Imperium. Perturabo thought of this moment, over and over again in his many moments alone upon that daemon world, of the many things he wanted to say- to spit- against his father's face.

Angron of the Worldeaters would kill to have this moment, and so would Mortarion.

Too bad, he was there first.

"I would not have this pointless prattle drag on." Perturabo growled, slapping away the drone attempting to dress his wounds and sending it clattering onto the metal deck. He rose from his throne and grabbed Soulrender- the godspear he plucked out of Horus' hands. "Summon all my sons! We ride against the Emperor! The hour of reckoning is upon us, let fate decide who falls this day- the Lord of Iron, or the Lord of Ash and Dead Earth!"

The flagship's engines roared to life, and Perturabo let fly every single gun battery onboard his massive, daemon-infested battlecruiser as it hurled itself forward through the vastness of space. Loyalist vessels spun and broke apart on impact as macro-cannonfire mercilessly hammered down against their shields and battered hulls. The Iron Warriors screamed, chanted and bellowed forth a litany of curses at the burning debris field they barreled past. They hurried towards their end, finding great joy in staring unyielding against the gaping maw of oblivion- for in it they would find freedom.

If not, it was another glorious fight anyway.

"Fire everything! Everything we've got!" Perturabo roared, his voice echoing with ten millennia's worth of hatred. He opened a direct vox-comm link to the Emperor's flagship and screamed into the receiver. "You were a fool to come here, False Emperor! You cannot stop us! Even your lapdog Horus has fallen to me! Ready yourself, for when I kill you- I WILL MAKE SURE YOU STAY DEAD!"

Upon his throne in the Brass Domain, Khorne narrowed his eyes and looked upon Perturabo's reckless plunge into the thick of the frey...and smiled. _**"Yes...into the madness of carnage you go, child of man. This is worthy of my attention."**_

The Lord of Iron's flagship, and all the escorts that came with it, found itself bathed in enemy fire as soon as it cleared the debris field. Loyalist vessels intent on protecting their Emperor's warship, deliberately came in between them in an attempt to halt the advance of Perturabo's brazen assault. They, in turn, were brutally sundered by the Iron Warriors as they pushed harder towards their goal. Gone were the tactics of the Lord of Iron's ruthlessly efficient mind, gone were his ambitions for power- all replaced by a singular, raw and undiluted desire that even he could not name.

The Emperor alone knew this, for even he wished for it more times than he cared to count.

An end, and Perturabo would seize it whatever the cost.

"Come to me, Perturabo." The Emperor whispered, his mind now attuned to his wayward descendant's own. "You shall have what you desire."

His flagship crashed against the _Imperial Dream_ like a thunderbolt, the impact sent everyone flying against the observatorium, the momentum only spurring Perturabo to leap out of the bridge and into the bridge of the Emperor's vessel before him! Roaring mutely in the vacuum of space, Perturabo poured forth the powers within the godspear and struck the shields of the flagship until it opened a hole for him to enter. His momentum carried him past the breach, and he smashed through the _Imperial Dream's_ observatorium like a solid rock through glass.

The Adeptus Custodes immediately rushed against the Lord of Iron, intent on laying him low before his presence invoked the arrival of daemons, Iron Warriors Honor Guard, or something worse. The gilded warriors raised their spears and attacked Perturabo where he stood, immediately earning his fair share of ire and found themselves on the receiving end of a gout of bellowed out daemon-flame that reduced them to ash. Perturabo cast aside Soulrender and raised the defiled Forgebreaker- the last weapon his long dead brother Ferrus Mannus had made for Fulgrim- against his father to challenge him. "I did not come for empty promises!" He snarled, "They did not, Horus could not, tell me how you can be any different!"

The Emperor frowned, his swords rising about his body like the pinions of an eagle. He bade the rest of his guard to stand down, opting to give Perturabo the duel he so desired. His footfalls thundered as he descended the pedestal in order to meet his son upon the stage set before them, and he regarded the fallen one closely as he spoke. "I am, for I am changed. Once, I robbed you of that will to satisfy my own. I will not make the same mistake twice."

"Hmph!" Perturabo scoffed, stepping back as the warp tears appeared behind him. "We will see."

Suddenly, a host of daemons spilled out of the tears and set themselves upon the Emperor like raging tide. The _Emperor's Words_ shot out like a blast from a shotgun shell and skewered dozens of his assailants at once. Calmly he waved his hand about and reduced the horde down to their primitive essences, before devouring them completely and absorbing them into his soul. The Emperor arched a brow and watched nonchalantly as Perturabo took hold of his hammer and prepared to strike against him.

The gilded hand flicked him off and throttled him out of the bridge and into the debris field outside, sending him crashing painfully through several slabs of torn bulkheads before coming to rest against the sundered deck of a derelict battleship. The Emperor rose up and followed him out of the flagship, catching the attention of the enemy vessels outside as he floated through space. Their guns immediately trained on the god of mankind and bathed him in macro-cannonfire, all of which proved useless against the Emperor as he ignored the harmless hail that assaulted him from all sides.

He hovered above Perturabo's fallen form with his arms crossed above his chest. He didn't enjoy having to humiliate the Primarch, he preferred any son of his to show some dignity at the very least, especially when their end was near. "Rise, Perturabo. If you are to lay me low, show a little more effort."

Perturabo shook off the attack and glared up at his father in anger. With his hands clutched tightly around the shaft of Forgebreaker, he leaped off the deck and swung at the Emperor. His blow was met with great resistance, as the _Emperor's Words_ crossed the path of his strike and caught Forgebreaker in between them. Perturabo bellowed out a cry of frustration and broke off, raising one of his free hands to fire his combi-bolter against the Emperor.

In turn, the Emperor willed the bolts to disintegrate into a harmless cloud of dust, and sent two of his swords to cut deeply into the Iron Lord's thickly plated armor. The power-blades pierced through ceramite plating, and Perturabo howled in agony as the blades burrowed even further into his body. Though his wounds mounted, he fought on. Though he wished for his end to come, he chose to make his opponent fight for it.

Raptor assault-marines came in between them as a transport vessel flew past. Perturabo surprised them as he slew his own sons in anger over their intervention. The hammer broke their backs and split open heads, adding more blood in the name of the Blood God. One traitor astartes managed to disarm the Lord of Iron, earning himself the full attention of his enraged lord as Perturabo crushed his helmet in with his own hands. He then tackled the Emperor down into the asteroid belt that lay close to the debris field, relentlessly striking at him with his bared fists as they plummeted onto the rock.

As the two slammed down painfully onto the hard stone surface, all watched as father and son struggled on Adeen, both sides cheering their champions on to the bitter end.

Perturabo placed his thumbs over his father's eyes in an attempt to gouge them out of the hated face, then cried out suddenly as the _Emperor's Words_ plunged deep into his back, chest and belly. The Lord of Iron, wracked with pain, felt his hands shatter in the grasp of his father's own. The Emperor, grown livid from the struggle, grabbed onto Perturabo's offending hands and broke them in a punishing grip. He pushed him off and rose up, looming over the fallen Lord of Olympia as he knelt before him. Perturabo moaned piteously as he raised his mangled hands before his contorted face, he cried out even louder as the blades sank deeper and deeper into his body.

"You held...so much promise." The Emperor sighed.

"As your slave..." Perturabo hissed spitefully, the tears welling up in his eyes as he gazed up at his progenitor. "I didn't want this...any of this! You knew of the things I dreamed, the things I never spoke of- the things no one cared to find out! You knew, and you chose to make me into something I was never destined for! I WANTED TO BUILD, TO CREATE- NOT DESTROY!" He groaned, not from the pain of his wounds, but from the last shred of humanity that smoldered in his corrupted heart. "You took that from me..." He rasped, "From all of us...now behold the ruin that your selfishness begat..."

"I have loved you, Perturabo!" The Emperor roared, his hands grabbing the gorget of his son's armor.

"Yes..." The Lord of Iron said, "But you loved Mankind more...and in so doing, you have failed both."

He spoke the truth, and the Emperor knew it. So many mistakes, so many things he could've done right. And it should've started with his sons. "Forgive me...Forgive me, my son."

Perturabo shook his head, "That day had long passed...I do not want your apology, nor do I wish to forgive..." The Lord of Iron surmounted his crippling agony and propped himself against the Emperor, rising up to his feet to meet his father face to face. "But give me now what you did not...give me that choice..."

A tear slid down his father's cheek.

"...let me die."

The Emperor embraced his son, eyes clenched tight as he willed the blades to do their work. Perturabo convulsed violently, and his teeth ground together as the blood welled up in his throat, threatening to drown him in a sea of red. Even then, he did not resist. The white-hot agony of his soul burning in the Immaterium, torn from the grasp of the Ruinous Powers, was worse.

But even then, he did not resist.

"Peace..." He rasped as he breathed his last, "...at long last."

Strength left his legs, and the Lord of Iron collapsed limply into his father's arms. As the Emperor held him gently against his chest, the tears began to flow more freely. Even as the battle raged around him in earnest, the Emperor grieved over the death of his son. Though he betrayed everything he had stood for, Perturabo was still his own, and his failure as a father kept him from embracing his destiny as a paragon of humanity.

So many mistakes, so many things he could've done right. What comes after is agony, and indescribable, biting agony that would haunt him for the rest of his days. The Emperor cried out, like the wail of a thousand burning souls, as he rocked back and forth...

...paralyzed with grief.

 **}!{**

 **One down, six to go.**


	9. Chaos Is Eternal

**}!{**

The Daemon Primarch of the Iron Warriors, the traitor Lord of Olympia, Perturabo was dead.

The loyalist forces received the news with great jubilation, another awesome feat accomplished by their God-Emperor. Those who witnessed the final moments of that duel between gods felt honored to have seen the power of the Master of Mankind firsthand, and with these thoughts did their courage soar. Morale was raised once again, and the defenders of Adeen drove back the scattered legions of Rust and Iron back to the gathering Warp Storm where the grotesque hand of Nurgle reached out into the Materium.

Saint Celestine, did not receive the news as well as the others, for her heart was heavy and her spirit was crushed.

She stood upon the deck of the operating room where the body of Horus lay interred within a stasis field, alone to gaze sadly upon his ruined visage. Her eyes took in the marred, burnt flesh. Her gaze followed the hideous scars until it rested on the massive gash where his eye and a sizeable chunk of his head used to be. The report was that a Deathmark necron assassin was responsible for the deed, though experts found such a conclusion premature and unlikely. Deathmark assassins were known to be masters of their craft, owing to the necrons' ability to manipulate time itself to their favor. They would not be so sloppy as to leave any of their victims alive, not even a Primarch would survive a leptonic lance.

Celestine did not care for the details. She took small solace in the fact that there was a chance, albeit slim, that her lover would pull through this crisis. The Saint had all the tools necessary to improve the odds of success, handed down directly from the Emperor himself. All she had to do now was give the word, and the sisters hospitallers, astartes medicae and apothecaries would get to work. But fear, rare as it would visit, of failure stayed her hand. Horus was not a Living Saint, he had come back only because at the latter days of the Horus Heresy did the Emperor blast his soul from the material realm and yanked it back when he was needed most. Today, the Emperor was far away, fighting off the daemons threatening the sector.

Horus was not a Perpetual either, and for all his might he was still mortal. Celestine could raise the faithful from the abyss, but she knew Horus. He didn't believe entirely that his own father was a god, and that lack of faith would prove detrimental to him. Failure would mean death, and Celestine had no idea what to do when that happens.

At least here, in her moment of solitude, she would be able to say goodbye. Horus would not hear her, with all interaction blocked by the stasis field, but doing so anyway would bring some semblance of closure.

"We've been through so much together, Horus." Celestine sighed, laying a hand on the metal slab. "The years had passed so quickly that one can easily forget the moments we shared- but not me. I remember them all. From the time we first met on Cadia, vanquishing the Despoiler. I still carry the shame of how I treated you, though you've always said you've forgiven me."

The Saint smiled at the memories, "And our journey through the Warp on a Crusade to restore Lord Guilliman. I remember the day we reached Holy Terra, you were so determined to push against all odds to gain an audience with the Emperor...When we parted ways, that was the first time I felt that longing. I couldn't describe it at the time, for I had no experience in it before. Now I know, I had always loved you, Horus." Celestine blushed, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I dreamed of you, you know? Us...together, in a dark room wrapped in silken sheets, doing delicious things to each other." She remembered the forbidden fantasies planted by the Dark Prince of Excess, how Horus defied her vows of chastity and made love to her- something she had once looked upon with unparalleled disgust, and now set her mind and heart ablaze with curiosity.

The Emperor's decree for her to bear his grandchildren did not help in any way.

"Never before have I felt such contentment then, such fulfillment." The Saint swallowed the lump forming in her throat, "I spoke of things my heart yearns for, and I yearn for them even more deeply now than ever. I wanted many things, but nothing compares now to my desire for you to live. I will not say goodbye, Horus. I _know_ you will survive, because if you don't..." Celestine closed her eyes as the tears welled up within them, she refused to say anything spiteful, for as much as she hated Horus for putting her in this situation she loved him too much to threaten him. "Just live, mankind still needs you."

Celestine let out a heavy sigh as she beckoned for the others to begin working, " _I_ need you."

* * *

High atop his tower, the _Templo Inficio_ , on the Daemon world Sicarus, the Daemon Primarch Lorgar Aurelian remained as he had been for the last ten thousand years- immobile and upon his knees to meditate on the bidding of the Four Ruinous Powers. No pressing concern, no matter the weight or implication, had moved the Primarch of the Word Bearers from his position. Content with his lot, and secluded from the noise of the outside world, Lorgar kept his full attention on understanding the incomprehensible words of his malevolent patrons.

But, as was the nature of all things, the Primarch's reverie did not last forever.

Khorne himself bellowed in his ear, his thunderous voice of a billion angry warriors nearly rendering him deaf as he chastised him for lingering where he should have been moving. Even Tzeentch, who usually enjoyed the leisure moments spent studying on the secrets of creation itself, was displeased with Lorgar's overall inactivity- something only Nurgle approved. Slaanesh cared little for the attentions of her servant, the Dark God of Excess having its mind occupied with all manner of acts of depravity. Lorgar's eyes opened upon finding out that one of the Four was absent. Swift as the news arrived, even in the timeless nature of the Warp, and Lorgar soon learned of what had transpired in the material realm in his absence. Horus had returned- the real Horus. Abaddon had been slain, his final crusade lost as the other twelve had. Lorgar learned of the return of Roboute and Corvus, and of the retrieval of Leman Russ when Horus dared to venture into the Realms of Chaos. The Primarch then did the impossible and snatched away the Aeldari Goddess Isha from her cage in Nurgle's palace. When he thought things couldn't get any worse, Lorgar soon learned that the Emperor himself was brought back from the brink of death. Nurgle had thrust his servants into a desperate campaign to bring his companion back to where she belonged, and would lay waste to the Imperium while the Emperor was not yet at his strongest form.

Lorgar sighed deeply. He knew where this road would take him, and all he had given his life for to build- ruin.

Alas, he had already pledged, sacrificed and betrayed so much for his choice. Though the way led to hell, Lorgar would stand by it. Chaos would still be eternal, and he was content with that thought. He then donned the Armor of the Word, curiously unmarred by even the corrupting influence of the Warp, and took up the heavy maul, the iconic _Illuminarum._ He then opened the doors of the temple that he might at last take part in the unfinished crusade to bring the word of Chaos to all unbelievers.

Lorgar marched down the path, steps formed from the cracked slabs upheld by unseen hands to support his feet as he descended to the earth. Slaves, warriors, priests and acolytes bowed where they stood and stepped aside to let the Primarch through. The very ground trembled with every step the Herald of the Word took, and the earth split with abyssal fissures at his very presence. Lorgar smiled to himself and headed towards the basilica where his devoted Dark Council of Black Apostles sat, awaiting for the day he would finally leave the tower to command them once more.

Kor Phaeron rose up from his high throne, the seat in which he was elevated above the other six Dark Apostles, the former three slain in the past at the hands of the Imperium's champions. The most recent being Erebus, whom Horus blotted out of existence upon Ibrium.

Lorgar chuckled at the memory, "Blood spent, blood wasted. A fitting end." Kor Phaeron, just like his Primarch, was pleased with the demise of his rival. With Erebus gone, no longer will the Word Bearers stagnate through inaction. Even better, Lorgar was with them now, an omen that bode well for the traitor legions as it would mean they would finally resume the crusade into the Materium.

"Lorgar! At last, you join us!" Kor Phaeron greeted, rising from his seat to approach the towering figure.

Lorgar grasped his adoptive father's arms in response and smiled, "I have meditated for far too long, father. The work of Chaos had stalled in spite of the capable hands I entrusted the responsibility to. But let bygones be bygones, I have returned to lead you. The time has come for us to venture out of the Warp and bring the Word of Chaos to the Imperium of Man, and we must do so ever swiftly- for the Anathema walks among the living once more!"

"A delay of the inevitable!" Kor Phaeron scoffed, "The False Emperor will fall as he had before!"

"If the Chaos Gods will it, it will be the last time." Lorgar declared, laying his eyes upon the brass basin in the middle of the dark sanctuary where a massive bonfire blazed bright in the malevolent red light. "Summon all my sons, gather the fleets and the armies loyal to the Ruinous Powers! We march for Terra once again!"

* * *

The Emperor sat on the steps leading up to the command chair of his flagship. His swords lay scattered in a wide ring around him, for his mind was too taxed to lift them about. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the godspear Soulrender in his hands. He did not think of the war at that moment, but of the final hour he had spent fighting his son Perturabo. He remembered the day when he birthed him into the world, an innocent babe wrapped in a gestation pod ready to claim his glorious purpose as Primarch of the Legio Astartes. Now, only to be reclaimed in death, another son was gone forever. The Emperor honored his final wish, and did not capture his soul to be used for any schemes- be it by his own or by some other.

 _ **"You are in pain,** **love?"**_ A soothing voice whispered in his ear.

The Emperor closed his eyes and basked in the comforting presence of the Eldar goddess. Her influence amplified by the Golden Throne, Isha was able to reach him from Terra itself. He was grateful for her thoughtfulness, knowing through personal experience the demands of the decaying piece of Dark Age technology with every use. Even now, Isha was concerned for him over herself. "I am." He breathed, "I killed my own son today."

 ** _"Ohh..."_** He felt her astral form nestle its head upon the crook of his neck as its long and slender arms snaked over his shoulders in a gentle embrace. _**"I know how it feels...there is no greater agony than this. I mourn with you..."**_ The Emperor knew, better than anyone, she understood. Isha had to stand by while her fellow gods slaughtered her own children, and unlike him, she could do nothing but plead and beg for the bloodshed to stop.

"Yes, I mourn. But I must be strong." The Emperor replied. "Chaos will use my sons against me. For the sake of mankind, I must put aside my love for them and do what must be done. It is the only way."

The two shared one moment of silence, broken only when Isha spoke of the final goal in this war against the Lord of Decay. _**"Do you know how to defeat them? Do you know how to end this war?"**_

The Emperor knew the answer to that riddle, having exhausted every means to kill the Chaos gods. "Once, I thought starving them through unbelief was the solution. But now I know better. Ten thousand years sitting immobile upon the Golden Throne broadened my perspective. I must become what I've devoted all my life to fight. I must _become_ Chaos."

Isha stared at him as he rose up to walk forward into the observatorium, "Many a millennia ago, the Eldar gave birth to the Chaos God of Excess. Slaanesh, in turn, devoured every soul it could get its hands on- be it gods or mortal. I will do the same. Once I've successfully defended this sector, I will return to Terra and begin a grand construction of a warp-tech device capable of devouring the essence of the Dark Gods. I will tear apart that faded piece of equipment, the Golden Throne, that which served as my prison for ten thousand years and siphon the life forces of the Warp tear it would form."

The Emperor smiled grimly, "Then, when Nurgle comes for us, we will eat him whole."

Isha met his declaration with silence, and her eyes widened as hope filled her heart. _**"Is such a thing possible?"**_

"It is, for I ordain it so." The Emperor replied. "One prodigal son of mine once said Chaos cannot be destroyed, it can only take another form. Nurgle is the patron of death and decay. He is the architect of destruction, despair and of vitality- aspects that can be conquered." His hands curled into fists, "In another life, I refused to embrace what I truly am, but those days are over. I am the God-Emperor of Mankind, and if the odds prove to be in our favor, I will become the God of Death."

The Emperor approached Isha, "But I cannot do it alone. Stand with me...fight with me...and rule with me."

Isha's gaze fell. She was not a destroyer, nor a devourer as many of her god-kin had become. She was the Goddess of Life and Fertility, a cultivator and builder. But as all things do, she knew she must change. This undertaking, ambitious and almost impossible though it be, would need her support- the Emperor would need her support. Isha looked up at her savior, then at the disembodied hand of her captor spilling into realspace. _**"I will be there when you need me...to end this war, whatever it takes."**_

"Then so begins the end of the Dark Gods."

* * *

Horus stirred, gasped as though he was drowning, then sat upright on that chilling metal slab he was brought in. The cool air kissed his naked skin, and he reflexively tightened the loincloth around his waist. His head pounded like a drum, and it hurt so much to think that his eyes clenched tightly while the Primarch fought to surmount his crippling agony. A loud curse erupted from his lips, Horus grabbed onto his aching temples and pulled his feet down to touch the cold steel deck that stretched across the recovery chamber.

The memories that floated around his mind were a mess, Horus could not make sense of any of it. But as the minutes ticked on, the Primarch began to recollect. First, and naturally, came the most earliest of experiences. Horus remembered a battle, he was on a desert world fighting against someone he knew very well- someone he knew personally. It later led to his injury, and likely his internment into this chamber.

His fingers traced his shaved crown, lightly touched the tender flesh of freshly welded skin across faint surgical scars all over his face and neck. Horus rubbed his eyes in an attempt to calm the violent throbbing of his swollen brain, then hissed in agony upon realizing that it only made it worse.

"He's awake!" Someone yelled excitedly in the other room, the noise serving only to increase his suffering as even the most gentle of whispers would set him off in a haze of crippling pain. "Lord Horus is awake!"

Horus bellowed, "SHUT UP!" He brought his hands over his ears to drown out the world in a shroud of white noise. The Primarch was vaguely aware of the people entering the chamber, all of them eager to inspect their lord for any complications. His response was swift, and he demanded solitude, preferring that he recovered alone. Fearing his wrath, the medical staff exited the room as swiftly as they had come, leaving only one person in the chamber to face the agonized Primarch.

"Get out, whoever you are..." Horus whispered, eyes still clenched tight that he wasn't able to see his visitor.

Gently, but firmly, the voice of the visitor spoke. "I will not." Horus opened one eye in annoyance, and he recognized faintly the angelic woman who graced him with her presence. This one was dear to him. And yet, her name was lost in the dimming reaches of his injured mind. He stared long and hard at her, grasping faintly for the hard-sought name, only to have it slip through his fingers like sand every time.

The angel approached him and reached out to touch his face, "Come, let me ease your suffering." She held him close to her breast and lovingly caressed his neck. "There, is that better?" Horus felt the healing energies of her psychic emanations reach out and calm the ache of his ruined crown, but he could not deny the discomfort brought upon by the stiff, unwelcoming texture of her breastplate as it pressed hard against his face.

Horus squinted as he regarded her beautiful face, still at a loss of what to call her. Eventually he gave up and confessed of his shortcomings, "Forgive me, lady. I know that I know you, somehow, but I cannot recall your name. Please tell me, who are you?" He prayed she would answer and not take offense, for it may work well for him to hear of something familiar, then perhaps his memories might be brought to light.

He sighed in relief upon hearing her chuckle in amusement, a sure sign she was not offended. She bent down suddenly and applied a light kiss on his lips, "My name is Celestine, Horus. I am your friend, and your lover."

"I...I was not expecting that answer." Horus said honestly, "But it is a good thing to wake up to. Thank you, Celestine."

Celestine helped him up, and steadied him on wobbly legs. Horus leaned on the Saint as she walked him out of the room to be inspected by the apothecaries, the hospitallers and the servitors awaiting him outside. Once he was safely in their hands, Celestine bade him goodbye and turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" Horus asked.

"I am needed elsewhere, Horus. I must remind you, there is still a war to be fought." The Saint answered, "Don't worry. When this is over, I intend to visit you as soon as I can."

With that, Celestine disappeared into the dark halls of the battlecruiser, leaving Horus discouraged as he soon remembered what 'war' she spoke of. "Get me back into the fight, whatever it takes." Horus said to the apothecaries.

 **}!{**


	10. A Night To Forget

**}!{**

The Adeen System had been sundered to its core. The vicious exchange between traitor and loyalist had rendered the once beautiful sub-sector into a desolate wasteland, littered with a rich bounty of scrap that soon attracted the greenskin hordes. The Orks, by chance ending up on the battered sub-sector, swarmed over both the forces of the Ruinous Powers and the Imperium of Man. Fortunately, this circumstance proved to be one that the Emperor needed to distract his enemies from his main goal- winning the first step of the war against Chaos. The greenskins proved to be a taxing nuisance to the heretics, and this opportunity was exploited by the Master of Mankind.

He ordered the fleets to fall back to Terra, where he would begin his long work at fixing the unfinished Webway Project that he might at last rid himself of the Golden Throne once and for all.

Ten Millennia ago, it took him years to gather enough resources and willing hands to even begin to construct his greatest scheme- to find safer waters for his kin to travel on through the Warp. He would've been able to fix Magnus' folly, had the Chaos gods not brought the possessed Warmaster to Terra's doorstep. Today, he was faced with the same problem.

Nurgle himself was coming to reclaim Isha.

The Emperor's ambition involved gathering strength from the influx of souls, aided greatly by the warp-tech devices recovered from the Dark Age of Technology, that he might devour Nurgle whole and achieve apotheosis. To do so, he needed Terra rid of one other greater threat, and so the Webway Project must be finished.

As the fleets entered the Warp and made their speedy headway for the capital, the Emperor did as he should've done in the Great Crusade and involved his sons in his ambitions. He grew concerned with the welfare of Guilliman and Corvus, who were both up to their necks fighting the xenos threatening the Imperium's borders. Though his sons insisted that they had faced nothing new and needed no concern on his part, the Emperor ordered a tenth of his own retinue of the Imperium's champions to bolster the ranks of the Ravenguard and the Ultramarines- a gesture that the two Primarchs begrudgingly accepted.

Guilliman was impressed by the pacing of thought the Emperor was going through, and gave voice to his support of the daunting endeavor to rid the Ruinous Powers of one of its dark patrons. As father and sons talked it over the holocron, the Primarch of the Ultramarines voiced his own concerns regarding his homeworld. There had been no news or contact from Ultramar and its surrounding systems in the past month. While the bulk of the Ultramarine task forces had made for Armageddon to rid the galaxy of the Thrakan threat, the sub-sector became a black spot on the map. Worried that something was amiss, Guilliman requested someone investigate in his stead, for the Ultramarines had their hands full on Armageddon.

Leman Russ was not around to hear of the Emperor's schemes, having his full attention focused on searching for the lost Primarch of the Dark Angels- Lion El'Johnson.

The Raven Lord was skeptical of his father's plans, however, and questioned the validity of the Emperor's plans. He had learned, through a lifetime facing Chaos at every turn, that anything that involved the Ruinous Powers never resulted in anything good. In a harsh, unforgiving future, the destruction of one evil gave birth to another more terrifying replacement. In the words of the traitor Primarchs Alpharius and Omegon, _"You cut off one head, two more shall take its place..."_

Chaos will just take another form, and from there it's back to square one.

This fact was not lost on the Emperor, and he made it clear that he would go through with his plan regardless of the risks. He would also have his sons support his endeavors, no matter the doubts that prevented them from doing so. The Imperium was spread too thin at this point, and in his great wisdom, the Emperor knew that he could not instigate a second war in the Webway and at the same time have humanity face the horrors of the frontlines without proper guidance. A recall of Imperial forces at a grand scale would have to be in order, and so the Emperor gave his trusted lieutenants and representatives to beckon all defenders from outlaying territories to give up their positions momentarily in order to focus their resources on forming a sort of blockade around the Solar System.

For if the worst should occur, and the War in the Webway failed, mankind would be ready to face the wrath of the second Eye of Terror- birthed directly within the heart of the Imperium.

Such a burdensome task would not be accomplished so quickly, no matter the feverish pace his loyal subjects moved to accomplish his assignments, but the Emperor accepted the results with an understanding mind. He spoke words of encouragement, much needed encouragement, to the masses whenever he could. His thoughtful speeches aided them greatly and allowed them strength to face the grueling day-to-day trials that came their way. He thanked them for holding true to their duties as loyal servants of the Imperium should do, and assured them that when the time came, they would see the fruits of their labors and rejoice in the culmination of both their efforts.

He needn't say much, for the masses were eager now more than ever to serve their returned God-Emperor.

The fleets arrived upon Holy Terra's airspace, returned from a long attempt to stall the Plague God from wresting Isha from the Golden Throne. Yvraine's prophecies were half truths at best, showing that the will of the Emperor defied the fates- undying proof of his divinity. Once there, the Emperor instructed the fleets to begin forming a rally point in a protective ring about Terra, where all who chose to assist would gather to prepare for the coming storm. He left them under the capable hands of the recovered Primarch Horus Lupercal, and journeyed down to the Imperial Palace to relieve the Goddess Isha from her duties holding the Golden Throne in his stead.

He rushed into the throneroom with the Adeptus Custodes sprinting not far behind, fearing that his beloved would've suffered the same fate as the late Sigillite when he held the Golden Throne some ten millennia ago. He found Isha asleep, unharmed by the archaic device of that long forgotten age, as though the worst the Golden Throne had done was sap her of but a sliver of her strength. The Emperor approached the goddess and gently shook her.

"Isha?"

Isha's lips curled into a smile, and her eyes opened halfway. Weakly, she croaked from a throat that ran dry moments before. "Ah...you've returned?"

The Emperor nodded, "And you've held true, as you've promised."

"I told you..." Isha attempted to stand upon unsteady legs, and would've fallen had the Emperor not firmly held to her arms for support. "...I've endured far worse than this..."

"You will never have to, when I'm done here." The Emperor declared, summoning his coterie of enginseers, tech-priests and the many archmagi from Mars that still remembered his plans of the original Imperial Webway Project- including Belisarius Cawl himself. Isha watched them curiously as they started breaking down the gilded walls of the ancient throneroom, revealing even more ancient warp-tech pipeworks and tubes leading down to a maze of complicated systems that resembled a sort of web that span the whole continent that was the Imperial Palace.

She leaned against the Emperor and inquired of the meaning of all this, "Is this...what I think it is?"

"One of my greatest failures about to be fixed." The Emperor replied.

* * *

Horus crossed his arms and sighed heavily as he stared out of the windows of the fully restored _Divine Fury_.

Too many things occurred while he was out of it, most did not bother him at all, but one thing did and it was keeping him up most nights. Perturabo was his brother, and out of all the Primarchs Horus was the closest of a brother to deserve that name as far as the Lord of Iron was concerned. He had plans, on a scale that stood on par with his own father's ambitions. Perturabo was a dreamer, a proud man, but a dreamer and there was no sin in that.

He envisioned an Imperium enlightened and absent of the shackles of ignorance, superstition and bigotry. Horus envisioned the same, but recognized the Emperor's methods, namely his seemingly endless campaigns against the xenos, would eventually make those dreams a reality. Perturabo, for some reason or another, could not and would not wait for it, resulting in his decisions that plunged him headlong into darkness, and his sons along with him.

He deserved better, and Horus hated the Ruinous Powers for exploiting his brothers for their own gain- even more so than before.

Horus's eyes darted sideways when he sensed the presence of a herald, then beckoning the servitor to speak. "What is it?"

"Master Lupercal..." The servitor's electronic, monotonous voice replied. "The Saint Celestine of the Order of Our Martyred Lady requests your presence aboard her vessel. She stated that it is a matter of a personal nature, and that she eagerly awaits your compliance..."

Horus' expression changed, and he smiled at the invitation. Celestine had been very...kind to him since his recovery days in the Adeen Campaign, but as of late became absorbed in her duties leading the Sisters of Battle against the traitor astartes, the Iron Warriors, when they were scattered the day their Primarch was slain by the Emperor. And now, it seemed, they would both have that rare chance to enjoy a brief respite from the madness of the endless wars waged in the name of mankind.

"Tell her I shall be there shortly."

* * *

Horus left the ship in Admiral Goodwill's care and embarked on a Thunderhawk towards Celestine's flagship, a battlecruiser provided by the Imperial Navy as a token to the Ecclesiarchy which was in turn transformed into a mobile chapel that doubled as a mobile starfort of its own, dubbed the _Enduring Truth_. Horus arrived without an escort, feeling that there was no need for one in the holy sanctuary of the adepta sororitas. Their zealous vigil was enough to assure him of a safe passage, in and out.

The Primarch met some sister neophytes who guided him through the halls of the vessel and into the chambers of the Saint. These halls were long enshrouded in mystery and closely kept secrecy, as were all that lay claimed by the Ecclesiarchy, and with good reason. Horus did not feel awed by the unfamiliar air, but he did find it unnerving to say the least. The neophytes stopped at the threshold of a pair of ornately carved black marble doors that showed two seraphims upholding the sun on the right and the moon on the left, their scantily clad bodies leaving little to the imagination as they turned forward and beckoned to any who would dare enter- prompting the Primarch to wonder at the inspiration of the artist who carved the elaborate impression.

Horus entered the wide and very spacious room beyond, his keen nostrils suddenly assaulted by the sweetness of burning scented candles upon their stands in each of the far corners of the chamber. Their dim light was enough to illuminate the Saint, who stood in the middle of the room with her back turned to him. Just beyond her was a bed that easily covered half of the room itself, and had a number of soft furs sprinkled with pink rose petals about them.

Horus' brows noticeably bunched up in his confusion, even more so when the doors suddenly slid shut behind him, locking him in with the Saint. His mouth moved ever so slightly, the word falling out in barely above a whisper. "What the fuck..."

Celestine's wings fluttered slightly, and she turned around. Horus saw that she was dressed in only a light robe of bright scarlet, tightly wrapped about her body and bared only a bare minimum of her shoulders. A deep blush was on her face, which did her true feelings no justice as she was now feeling faint with fear and embarrassment. Celestine cleared her throat nervously and spoke first, "Greetings, my lord. I'm pleased to have you come on such short notice." The Saint clapped her hands once, commanding her twin geminae who stood at the wings of the chamber to assist her. Two more sister acolytes seemingly appeared out of nowhere and began swaying lit censers back and forth, as if to start a holy sacrament.

"What is the meaning of this?" Horus looked on in shock as he saw from the dim light what exactly did the geminae sisters wore. Aside from a tightly wrapped piece of parchment across their eyes like a blindfold, a series of similar holy writs were draped and wrapped about their breasts and loins like makeshift pieces of underclothes! The Primarch heard the hiss of his armor protesting as it was removed from his body by the geminae. Now clad only in his loincloth, the Primarch was horrified at the feeling of the prying hands of the maidens reach to rid him of the last bit of his garments. The bundle of cloth dropped to the floor, exposing the Primarch's nakedness for all to see.

Naturally offended, Horus then moved and clamped down firmly onto the maidens' hands to put a stop to their ministrations. He flashed a somewhat annoyed look at Celestine and demanded an answer. "Celestine?"

The Saint looked at him blankly, unable to understand she was doing it all wrong. "My handmaidens are merely preparing us, my lord."

"Prepare us for what?"

"The deed." Celestine said, looking a little hurt now. "The consummation of our love..."

"STOP!" Horus declared firmly, commanding all to leave. "Get out, all of you."

The sisters knew better than to refuse the Primarch, and bowed reverently at both Horus and their Saint before exiting the chamber.

Celestine was confused at her lover's reaction and racked her brain trying to find out what she had done wrong, "W-Why? Have I done something to displease you?"

"No, Celestine." Horus sighed and shook his head, approaching the trembling Saint and surprising her when he gently pried off the robe and revealed the heavenly sight beneath. Horus took in the fullness of her breasts, the perfect curve of her waist and of her hips, right down to the bountiful legs and feet that graced the earth with its touch. He moved behind her and nestled his face between the base of her wings and breathed in scent of her flesh. "This is just simply not the way it is done."

Celestine closed her eyes and gasped as the Primarch kissed the base of each wing, she loved how he took his time with her, once half expecting him to see the deed done as the ritual she thought it would be.

Then, as if reading her thoughts, Horus leaned in and kissed her ear. He whispered as he rubbed her shoulders tenderly, "This is no ritual or a mere holy sacrament, it is an act as old as time itself but one that must not be demeaned through thoughtless rites and ministrations. Come, let me show you what I mean."

The Primarch took her by the hand and led her to the bed, beckoning her to lay down. Celestine obeyed, her heart aching to know the many things her lover would show her that night. She crawled across the valley laden with soft furs, squeaking in surprise when she suddenly felt Horus' hand clamp firmly onto her ankle and pull her back. Dragged across the furs and pushed about to face him, Celestine gazed up nervously as the Primarch loomed over her.

Horus smiled reassuringly, "I won't hurt you, Celestine..."

"I-I know that..." The Saint breathed, back arching as Horus' insolent lips traveled down from her chin to her neck, then to the valley between her breasts. She shivered when he came to rest on her belly. Just like that dream, where the Dark Prince Slaanesh planted in her mind the highly coveted fantasies she had for the Cthonian paragon. Similar in only the slightest, for this one was a very different experience.

She felt no fear, just a tiny bit of hesitation, not for Horus but for herself. Celestine second-guessed if she was worthy of this act, her thoughts battled against one another, she just wanted it to be perfect. One night, one perfect night, removed from the horrors of this dark future. A night where she could forget being a Saint, and just become Celestine.

A woman joined with a man, wrapped up in his loving embrace.

* * *

Outside, the less-than-prudent sisters gathered at the chamber entrance, ears pressed to the doors to listen to the shameless cries of their Martyred Lady and of the brutish grunts of the Primarch atop of her. Mischievous smirks and knowing looks were exchanged as the hours ticked on. And then, there was silence.

"Disrespectful waifs!" The mother-superior yelled upon seeing the neophytes eavesdropping on the sacred sanctum, "To your quarters this instant! A thousand prayers of penitence and ten lashes for each of you when I see you out here again!" Her words were met with a titter of embarrassment as the women scattered like a horde of rats.

 **}!{**

 **Yes, that would be a thousand prayers of penitence and ten lashes for my chapter full of heresy. Worth it, Slaanesh would be proud :)**


	11. The Serpent and The Eagle

**A/N**

 **All this time, I've been meaning to write Sanguinius off as dead ( I mean, come on, that golden boy's suffered enough! Let him rest! ) But then I've been going through the archives of 1d4chan and came across a piece that says a part of Sangy's soul is still onboard the _Vengeful Spirit_ which means he can ( not so optimistic, but what the hell ) be resurrected.**

 **I already have the plot in mind, and this detour from it probably won't harm the overall story at all ( kinda think Horus and Celestine need a good mentor since the other loyalist Primarchs inherited the dick-gene some way or another from the Emperor- so not a good influence ) but I decided I'd like to know what my readers feel about it.**

 **Another thing, about Horus' firstborn, do you fancy twins or just one?**

 **}!{**

The early morning mists parted as the hot red sun tore its way into the sky once more. Its baleful eye cast its heated glare upon the bloodsoaked dunes of Aksinar IV, shedding light upon the scores of dead bodies, tank corpses and scorched impact zones. The battle that came to pass was a hard fought victory, but came at a great cost to the victors- as was the nature of this dark and terrible future. The Tallarn Desert Raiders Armored Company had hunkered down in the safety of the mountain range's natural walls in order to intercept a contingent of corrupted guardsmen and traitor astartes from the now splintered and sundered Iron Warriors Legion. Their defiance was met with fierce opposition, but even through the masterful siege tactics of the Iron Warriors, the Tallarn Desert Raiders prevailed and vanquished the foes of the Imperium.

Now, all was deathly still, save for a lone traitor astartes as he lumbered out between the wrecks of two broken battle tanks. Wounded critically and bleeding out all over the sands, the seething warrior of the Ruinous Powers grasped tightly onto the wide gash in his belly that came from a stray las-cannon blast and moved onwards to hunt down the survivors. His other hand gripped firmly onto the handle of his grumbling chain-axe, ready to strike anyone foolish enough to attack him.

As it so happened, there was also one who was foolish enough to dare. As the spacemarine walked past the battered form of a Macharius heavy tank, a figure wrapped in a faded light brown cloak crept up the hull directly above the giant. One hand dropped a live krak grenade at the spacemarine's feet, the other prepared the curved power sword drawn from his back. The hot wind blew the cloak into view like a telltale flag, alerting the astartes to the presence of his assailant. But just as his head swiveled upwards, his keen ears registered the audible click of the krak grenade bouncing lightly atop the dirt beneath his feet. The heretic looked down and snarled out a curse.

A few seconds later, the grenade detonated.

It would take more than a well placed explosive to kill an astartes, that much was well known throughout the 41st Millennium. The guardsman immediately took advantage of the surprise attack and leaped clear off the hull of the tank, sword raised to deliver the killing blow. He was lucky this time, very lucky. No mere man would've killed an astartes, much less one devoted to the Ruinous Powers, so easily by himself. His aim was true and the power sword cut cleanly through the spacemarine's exposed neck.

The giant stiffened upon death, and the head slipped free from the neck as the massive hulk fell to its knees and collapsed into the dust.

Commander Dawn "Topside" Coal wrapped his handkerchief around the blade and wiped off the ugly red smear from hilt to tip. Finished with the wet rag, he thrust it aside spitefully and kicked a gust of sand in the spacemarine's direction. The guardsman then climbed back into the hull of the Macharius, dubbed the _Murder Bunker_ , to get an update on the situation. His crew, or rather what was left of it from the last tense exchange with the heretic contingent, was hard at work trying to coax the failing systems back to life. Enginseer Corligne was hunched over a console, reciting a mantra to calm the angry machine-spirits within the tank's simple computers. A violent power surge caused many key systems to overload, nearly rendering the _Murder Bunker_ a total wreck, when a summoned horde of glitchlings nearly overwhelmed the tank convoy.

"Any day now, seer." Coal growled as he took his place in the commander's compartment.

Corligne ignored his superior, focusing all his efforts on appeasing the offended machine and bring it back to life. His actions were met with great resistance, but he managed to succeed halfway. The Stormsword rumbled once, twice, then sputtered loudly as the engine failed a second time. The Enginseer gave a huff of irritation, then slammed a metallic fist on the console- hard. First Driver Trial Vorosi smirked at the sound of the restarted engine revving up for the final time. He pushed on the pedals and gripped hard onto the levers, "Thank the Emperor! We ride!"

"Easy on the controls, lest you offend the machine-spirits so soon after their appeasement!" Corligne snapped as he grabbed onto the console when the tank lurched forward all of a sudden. The _Murder Bunker_ pushed aside the destroyed tank corpses in its path as it began its slow ascent into the hill overlooking the common road. The treaded path led to an alternative route in which Commander Coal hoped to meet up with the rest of 32nd Imperial Armored Company, that they might begin their counter-assault on a Tau strike force that happened upon Aksinar IV. The Commander knew that the mere news of Chaos presence upon this world meant doom for its planet, knowing how the Inquisition and the Imperium entire sought to strike at every sign of the Ruinous Powers with extreme prejudice- with good reason. Salvation would come in fire, but Coal meant to have every loyalist soldier under his command to be out of harm's way before an Exterminatus would be enacted upon Aksinar IV.

"Something drew them here." Coal thought out loud, "Chaos does not strike at random as we were once led to believe."

Gunner Yosemite Slake chewed on a stick of tobacco and drawled, "Or could be that the Warp spat them out here upon their defeat at Adeen. Have you heard that their Primarch's been killed?"

"Killed by the Emperor's own hand." Loader Garth McCain muttered as he adjusted the bloodied tarp on the corpse laying at his feet. It belonged to the bow-gunner, a replacement operator named Sigmund. He lasted a full day before getting half his head blown off by a high-velocity round shot out of a heretic's bolter that breached the front hull of the tank and killed him instantly. McCain had befriended the lad where his whole crew treated him with indifference, and so only the Loader felt the sting of loss whereas the others shrugged off the death of Sigmund as most veterans in the Imperial Guard did, much to McCain's dismay.

"Garth, get back in position." Slake instructed, "Kid died at his post, you should do the same."

"Which one?" McCain retorted as he acquiesced to his superior's command. "The dying or being at my post?"

Slake couldn't handle the stress anymore and growled, "I'd be happy to put a slug in your ugly face for your insubordinate behavior, little man." All throughout their time spent in that mobile fortress, the gunner and the loader had been at each other's throats. Slake's cold treatment of the replacement bow-gunner did little to lessen the animosity McCain felt for his superior. The one thin tether that kept them from killing each other was the tank commander, who felt had no luxury of losing two of his best crewmen to something as petty as rivalry.

"Nobody's shooting anybody in my fucking tank!" Coal snarled, "Emperor willing we die after our job is done, and that's to get us regrouped with the main body in one piece. Pull your shit together and keep your claws off of one another, you hear!? Our enemies are all over the place, but none will reside in the _Murder Bunker_."

The grunts looked away, seething inside and thinking of all manner of murderous thoughts against each other. Commander Coal, satisfied that he made his point, lifted the hatch and peeked outside with his binoculars at the ready. The tank rolled on in silence, save for its loud grumbling engines as it rolled down the sandy path. Commander Coal busied himself with the radio, trying to contact the Armored Company ahead of time and notify them of the situation. The warband they've successfully driven off was just a splinter of the whole, and the blood spilled upon Aksinar was certain to attract the rest of the pack. The Tallarn Desert Raiders had to be ready, and communication was key to winning every battle against Chaos.

"Omnissiah, why did it have to be Chaos?" Corligne sighed as he tinkered around the tank.

* * *

The darkness lifted over the Dark Angels' stronghold, the one remaining relic of their homeworld Caliban, as the massive construct of earth and metal came about the moon to bathe in the red sun's light. The Warp storms had ceased, for the moment, but left a staggering amount of daemon hordes and traitor astartes incursions in its wake within the local system.

The Dark Angels had come for a different quarry, but had no qualms following their duty as protectors of the realm by slaying heretics.

Though they announced their presence to none but their own, it almost seemed fated that their rivals, their loathed brother-astartes the Space Wolves of Fenris, were able to sniff out their closely kept presence in any part of the galaxy.

A new day dawned upon Terra. Overnight, the massive conglomeration of fleets worked tirelessly to secure the borders of the capital sub-sector. No longer withheld from their quest to push through the territories of the Imperium from the loyalists' voluntary tactical withdrawal from the Adeen Campaign, the Plague Legions of Nurgle once again began their slow but steady progression upon Terra's threshold. Reformed by the will of his patron, the Daemon Primarch Mortarion, once slain upon Adeen by his brother Perturabo, took up the reins of both the splintered Iron Warriors and the Deathguard. With them at his command, he launched assault after assault upon every world in his path to the Imperium's capital.

Every sundered planet provided a shred of reality that Nurgle's rapidly coalescing form could use to enter the material realm.

Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the dark patron of Decay cried out to the Emperor, only to mysteriously vanish then reappear on the opposite end of each system. Rumors surfaced of the enigmatic Fallen Angel, the most wanted of the traitor astartes of the Dark Angels, but were disproved time and time again by the apparent evidence to the contrary.

For it was not Cipher who was responsible for saving the hapless subjects of the Imperium when they needed aid the most, rather, it all came from the unlikeliest of sources- the Alpha Legion.

And ironically, most of the danger came from the same- the Alpha Legion.

It was no secret that while Nurgle devoted his full attention to retrieving his lost 'bride', his rival gods went to war and set upon his territories like starving hounds. Never before had the powers of Chaos stirred since the day Slaanesh was birthed into the Warp by the old Aeldari. The Warp swelled, roiled and shook the material realm until abyssal fissures sundered the veil of reality that separated them. These fissures functioned like cosmic jetstreams, and to those with the knowledge and the courage to utilize such otherworldly means of transportation they would become an effective alternative to warping without the aid of an astropath navigator.

Owing to the ignorance of the masses, the renegades were easily mistaken as loyalists from an unknown successor chapter. Perhaps this was so, but then the motives of the Alpha Legion were never quite clear before and after the Horus Heresy, save for the Legion itself. Their enigmatic ways fall parallel to the nature of the Dark Angels, and as such, their goals and circumstances coincidentally stand similar.

A great and regrettable flaw in their planning resulted in this mess, and those who opted to serve mankind rather than the Ruinous Powers found themselves without both a Primarch and a welcoming Imperium. To those who willingly embraced Chaos, they were reduced to the level of the great three-headed serpent that adorned their pauldrons- monsters for the slaughter. Once, they stood united in the purpose set before them by their twin Primarchs Alpharius and Omegon. Tricked ten millennia ago by the drukhari into betraying the Imperium, following a bold but foolish plan to rid the galaxy of Chaos forever, the Alpha Legion fell far from grace.

Now, fighting an unseen civil war against their traitor brethren, hidden from even the near-omnipresent view of the Emperor himself, the loyalist outcasts endeavored greatly to redeem themselves from their great mistake in spite of their bleak circumstances. Even here, despite the loss of their gene-sires, they thrived.

For even the loss of its head, the Hydra grows two in its place. The Alpha Legion might never find redemption, but their sworn duty remained ever clear, and so they upheld their sacred trust.

* * *

The light shone brightly upon the _Enduring Truth_ , almost as if the universe in this grim and dark future approved greatly of the actions of the Primarch onboard and of his beloved angel. Horus slept like never before, for the first time truly feeling at peace. He opened his eyes and was welcomed by a beautiful sight.

There, laying across his massive chest, glowing like a newborn star, was Saint Celestine. Her skin shone bright from the luminance of the sun's rays shining through the windows of the chamber, though not at all hiding the numerous bite marks his ravenous mouth made on her ass and legs. They were like standards erected on a newly conquered stronghold, and seeing them all over again filled his heart with pride. Lightly, he touched her to make sure it wasn't an illusion, then found to his relief that it was so.

Once she donned her armor, no one would else would know of the marks but them.

Though fast asleep, her face had the look of delight, for her mind was filled with dreams of incomprehensible lasciviousness. A smile of contentedness stretched his lips wide, and the Wolf nuzzled the angel lovingly. As a Primarch and leader of the Luna Wolves, Horus lived a turbulent life. This new form of respite was a welcome change, and he wished it would never end.

Alas, duty calls. No one, not even a Primarch was above answering its summons.

Celestine stirred as she felt his arm brush against her wing. Now roused from her slumber, her thoughts drew to the same. She knew she must move to take command of the Sisters, as Horus must now return to the helm of the _Divine Fury_. With that, the serenity was broken, and Celestine's smile faded.

"Don't look so grim." Horus said, taking a moment to sit beside the angel before donning his armor. "We will have time for more when our duty is done."

"That is what troubles me." Celestine confessed, "What if we don't?"

"We will." Horus reassured her as he took her hand in his own and squeezed it gently. His eyes captured hers with its steely, unfaltering gaze. "Peace is not in the absence of turmoil, but finding calm in the presence of chaos. What you and I have started will not fade away, it will grow. I intend to cultivate it."

Celestine drew closer and put her hands on her lover's face. "Horus..." She kissed him, " _My_ Horus..."

The lovers, deeply satisfied with their time together, dressed themselves in their battle regalia and exited the chamber. To their surprise, a reception party awaited them in the halls of the _Enduring Truth_ , led by the most unexpected figure plucked right out of the pages of history.

Drawn out of hiding from an unknown quest, aged and battered almost beyond recognition, a towering giant donning the iconic auric-adamantium armor that stood parallel to the Emperor's own stood in the presence of his jubilant sons. He no longer bore the gigantic Storm's Teeth, and in place of his lost hand he wore a gilded power-fist. His eyes were the only ones that remained unchanged, for they were still glared as sharp as an eagle.

"Horus."

 **}!{**


	12. Fortify

**Ah, so twins it is then. I have an idea for the name of the boy ( take a guess ), now all I need is a suggestion for the girl. Any ideas, anyone?**

 **}!{**

The giant's boots thundered across the spacious gallery, each footfall reverberating through the still and empty air, alerting the servitors responsible for maintaining the precious artifacts and relics erected in the name of the absent Lord of Ultramar to his presence. The spacemarine's practiced hands plucked clear the empty magazine from his bolter and slapped in a fresh one. He then swiveled about, not even halting his pace as he ran down the aisle, and fired a dozen bolts in the direction of his pursuers.

The tyranid gaunts screeched as the rounds punched through the tough chitinous plating covering their bodies, splattering the tinted windows with bright green ichor as they detonated on impact. The servitors proved to be ample distraction for the giant to gain the distance between himself and the xenos, for as soon as the gaunts rounded the corner they stopped to tear at the unfortunate lobotomites rather than deal with the bigger threat. The spacemarine's power-armor, indicative of his status as an apothecary by the distinctive bleached white color, was blotched with arterial red blood from his grievous wounds. Though his injuries bit at him and threatened to impair his movements, the veteran apothecary refused to succumb and ignored his shortcomings. With one hand free, he opened a vox-channel and attempted to establish contact with anyone still alive in the citadel.

"This is Apothecary Ygor of 2nd Company, calling on any Imperial forces in the area!" The apothecary inhaled deeply as he ascended the staircase leading into the exits. His keen ears could hear the rattle of gunfire outside, and the mixed screams of both man and xeno locked in an epic struggle to take control of Maccrage. "Our position has been overrun, I'm initiating a tactical withdraw that I might regroup! Respond, anybody!" Ygor groaned in agony as he leaned against the massive doors of the reliquary, taking pause to gather his strength before pushing through to enter the battlefields outside. Naught but static and fragmented channels registered into his vox, so the apothecary decided to head into the direction of the largest battle at present. There were many warriors there who would have need of his skills, and if Ultramar was to survive this tyranid onslaught, they would have to band together quickly to resolve the issue. Vengeance would have to come later.

The skies above the burning citadel wept with black tears, seeds of the dreaded infestors that would soon take root and churn the earth to be consumed by the hive fleets above! Ygor gazed up in horror as the fiery debris of a hundred sundered Imperial vessels rained down upon the capital world of Secundus Imperialis. The attack was swift and caught the meager defenders of Ultramar unawares. This was unlike anything the Imperium had encountered. The past brushes they've had with the xeno hive fleets have taught them much, ranging from the devastating encounter with Hive Fleet Behemoth to the more recent attack of the vile Hive Fleet Kraken, but not enough to prepare them for this one. No, this one was different. Astropaths, psykers and librarians would've sensed the maddening influence of the shadow struck by the presence of the tyranids in the warp. This one slipped past their defenses like vapor, and eluded even the keenest of their diviners. Thus, the proud wall that safeguarded Ultramar for many generations crumbled overnight, and the xeno hordes spilled into the sub-sector.

The apothecary barely scratched the surface of the true nature of the things at work around him, for this fleet was indeed unlike the others. It had consumed, and now it had learned. Hive Fleet Numosa would reach the flame burning brightly in the darkness of the void- that warm and inviting glow, whose siren call beckoned to every hive fleet in every corner of this dark and horrifying galaxy- the Astronomican.

With Roboute Guilliman so far away in the frontlines, locked in his own epic struggle against the greenskin horde, and all the best of their chapters with him, Ultramar now lay helpless in the face of certain destruction. Untold million years of worth of culture, of history, built upon the backs of heroes and mythical legends long gone...the threat of it all being lost...the mere thought was maddening! Ygor, and all the hearts of every son of Ultramar, beat with the fervor of desperation. They would defend it, even at the cost of their own lives!

"Brother-Apothecary, over here!" Someone called above the ivory towers that loomed over the passing veteran. Ygor looked up and saw a group of newly initiated _Primaris_ spacemarines, numbering five in total, all fresh from the fight and ready to have another go at the enemy. Since the induction of the _Primaris_ project initiated by Primarch Horus Lupercal, many a spacemarine found himself subjected to a dozen or more improvements to add to their already impressive genetic modifications. Naturally, this development was met with severe resistance, but as time passed and with their own Chapter-Master Marneus Calgar willingly accepting his own remodifications, the Ultramarines relented. And with the word of Guilliman himself, all ill-will against the project vanished.

The spacemarines had amassed over a hundred refugees from the outlaying lands beyond the citadel, and over the course of the invasion had established that point as an impromptu evacuation center for the transporters to land on. Thunderhawks, normally designated to transport astartes, were soon utilized as an alternative means due to the urgency of the situation. The massive spacecrafts would hover close to the roof of the tower and its crew would cram as many survivors as they could before making a speedy headway towards safety.

Ygor ascended the heights quickly and requested a sit-rep. Though not technically an officer, his experience as a veteran outranked anyone at present, and so the chain of command was quickly established. The initiates were separated from their main contingent of fifty battle-brothers sent out to neutralize the local menace, and were said to be part of an even larger reinforcement group called back from the front. Ygor had been with Captain Cato Sicarius' personal retinue, and had similarly been separated from his comrades when his Thunderhawk had been torn from the skies by a hulking bio-titan. He crashed into the reliquary and soon found himself up to his neck in tyranid gaunts. That same bio-titan, though critically injured from its encounters with the armored companies on the ground, managed to show up in mid-conversation and head directly for the extraction point!

"Throne of Terra!" Ygor gasped, his sentiment echoed by the hundred fearful refugees cowering at his feet. The bio-titan easily pushed through the buildings in its path as though they were naught but sandcastles, its bloodied and torn jaw hung agape as it lumbered clumsily towards the astartes atop the tower. Bolter fire and screaming warheads slapped harmlessly against its thick hide, only spurring the monster forward as its pace doubled with each passing second!

Suddenly, a massive lance of green eldritch energies split the skies above and just as easily split the bio-titan down the middle! It tore through its gigantic chitinous armor and bore through its flesh like a hot knife through butter, and spilled its thick lifeblood upon the rubble-covered streets below.

Blinking the spots out of his eyes made by the brilliance of the attack, Ygor looked up and saw the ships of the Ynnari reveal themselves out of the smoke-filled air. Hovering in dangerously close proximity to them were the Ultramarine Land Speeders Tempest, concentrating their fire upon the hordes of genestealers, gaunts and gargoyles spilling like tar ooze through the cracks of the ruined streets. There, the voice of the Chapter-Master brought courage back into the tortured hearts of the beleaguered astartes as he addressed them by the vox-channel.

 _"Sons and daughters of the Imperium, this is Chapter-Master Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines! Take heart, for salvation draws near! Our allies have arrived! The enemy is losing momentum, know no fear, drive them out of Hera and out of Maccrage!"_

Ygor smiled to himself, knowing Horus had a hand in bringing the xenos aeldari to ally with the Imperium. "Yes, we will know no fear."

* * *

"Rogal? I thought you were dead!"

The ruthless stare of the Primarch of the Imperial Fists never wavered, "I could say the same about you, and yet here we are." For a moment, his gaze turned to the angelic woman standing close to Horus, then back to scrutinize his traitor brother. In all his characteristically brutal honesty, Rogal Dorn confessed to his intentions. "They told me many things, unbelievable and astonishing things. At first, I did not know what to think of it."

Horus eyed his brother warily, and his fingers grew taut around Soulrender's shaft. If a fight would break out, he would not allow himself to be the victim. He regarded the Imperial Fist astartes standing behind their father, then to the gathered adepta sororitas further down the aisle. No one, not a single word had reached him of his brother's return. A Primarch's 'resurrection' would have been well received, but the subtlety in it all was almost uncharacteristic of Rogal, and so Horus begged for an explanation. "Why have you come back now, Rogal? Why are you here?"

Rogal, blunt as ever, shrugged and replied. "I came here to kill you." That moment in between his unfinished sentence, the tension rose like a newborn tidal wave, then died out like vapor when the Primarch cleared his throat and continued nonchalantly. "But over time, I thought better of it."

"Don't do that." Horus uttered a loud snort as he calmed his frantically beating heart. He didn't want another war breaking out over a misunderstanding, and Rogal's tactlessness was certainly not something he needed now. "There is already so much that hangs in the balance..."

"Would I be myself if I was anything but forthcoming?"

"No, I suppose not."

Rogal grinned, surprising Horus when he closed the distance and embraced him tightly. He laughed in his ear, "They had given up on you, everyone, when you betrayed us! Only I and Vulkan knew better, it was never like you to lust for power like they said you did! It would've taken more than mere pride to bring you down, it had to be the combined influence of the Ruinous Powers- and even then they've failed!"

The last part was a little too optimistic a view to be realistic, Horus knew better, but he would not contest his brother's words right then. Perhaps he knew it took possession to get him to betray the Imperium, or perhaps not. But the most important thing now was that Rogal Dorn was back, and just in time when the Emperor needed him most. Horus placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and welcomed his gesture of goodwill, "I greet the day with a happy heart now that you're here, brother. Truly, I do. But there stands little time for celebration, and I fear I must place a heavy burden upon you so soon into your return."

"I've returned from an aimless quest to rid the Imperium of its threats from the inside, where my lofty position would've enchained me to inaction. Father saved you from oblivion, and you in turn saved him from death...I would not avoid my duties as Primarch, now that my purpose stands ever more clear than before!"

"Then come, we must prepare." Horus beckoned, "Father constructs yet another grand scheme, it falls to us to watch his back while he works upon the Imperial Webway."

The brothers departed from the _Enduring Truth_ , together they made their way down to Terra to meet with the Emperor and inquire of the state of his progress. Horus was there to report on his success in forming the first defense line, formed in a protective ring around the Sol sub-sector, while Rogal Dorn was just there to surprise his father with his sudden arrival.

When they arrived, however, no one in the crowds that crammed the streets of the capital recognized Rogal Dorn and so no one cheered when he exited the transporter. To Rogal, it wasn't a thing of consequence, for he preferred to be left to his duties without the accolades and praises of the masses he deemed unnecessary for his duty as a Primarch. Those few Imperial Fists and their successor chapters who had the honor of meeting him in the Imperial Palace were no less overjoyed to have their father rejoin them for the upcoming war.

In the halls of the God-Emperor wandered the teeming hordes of countless architects, engineers and enginseers, tech-geniuses and savants of every prominent house and forge-world known to man. They were there to share their accumulated knowledge, most in order to curry favor from the Emperor, and aid in the grand project he would soon reveal. Sworn to secrecy, and no less proud of the responsibility placed upon them, they gathered round their liege and answered his every beck and call.

Upon seeing his favored son walking side by side with the returned Primarch Rogal Dorn, the Emperor left the Golden Throne to seize this moment to have a personal exchange with his sons.

Rogal, still feeling the sting of shame by his shortcomings of that long and ancient trespass against the Emperor, knelt before his father and begged his forgiveness, stating his unworthiness and whatnot. At this, the Emperor quickly bid him rise, saying gruffly and in a way punishing Dorn for abandoning the Imperium in the earliest Black Crusades when it needed him to rule. "Oh for fuck's sake, get up boy! You're embarrassing yourself!"

Naturally, Rogal's guilt worsened, and even then the Emperor allowed the awful feeling to sink in that his son might never forget. Though Rogal Dorn despised having to become the leader in his stead all those years ago, his decision to fake his death in order to pursue his own agendas was something he- at the time- put it as a 'dick move'. It may have been the cleverest move to make at the time, but it was no excuse. The Emperor sighed and spoke in a more gentler tone, knowing full well that Rogal took after him in that aspect, so he had no right to judge him so harshly. "If you wish to earn my forgiveness, you will finish what you've started ten millennia ago. Put your skills as a master builder to work and _fortify_ Terra. Thereby, we shall withstand the coming _siege_."

Rogal nodded, showing that he would not let his pride get the better of him. "Yes father."

"And you!" The Emperor took Horus by the shoulders and shook him twice, all the while grinning mischievously as he looked upon his son with pride. "I almost thought you'd never do it, but you exceeded my expectations!" His voice then dropped to a whisper, "Did you ensure that Celestine would conceive?"

Horus grimaced at his father's unusual humor and squirmed uncomfortably at his questions, "I...I suppose I did?"

"Ah, no matter." The Emperor said as he released his hold on him, "If you fail the first time, you can always try again."

"How'd you even know that..." Horus began, stopping short of completing the sentence when he remembered his father was attuned with the Warp, and therefore could hear everything concerning emotions- and with what happened that night, everything concerned emotion. "Never mind."

"I still have much to understand about your plan, father." Rogal said as they returned to the throneroom, the gateway leading into the underground complex where the unfinished Grand Project now lay, slowly being coaxed back to life as construction gradually went underway. "A dark god approaches, and you plan on finishing a ten millennia old bridge?"

"The bridge is only a means to an end." The Emperor said as they entered the halls of the Grand Project, its paths stained with the blood of freshly slain daemons. The Custodes stationed there bowed low as their liege passed by, and the Emperor continued as they soon bore witness to the brilliance of the warpcraft nexus sputtering and straining to stabilize the vortex formed at the Webway gate. "I shall draw power from this well of souls, to seize the powers of the Warp and achieve apotheosis. I've avoided this path for so long that many a time I thought it is impossible, but the means have always been available, and above all- it has always been possible!"

The gate roared as a hundred daemons tore free from the Empyrean and spilled into the Custodes formation amassed at the gate itself. The Emperor and his sons watched as the gilded warriors effortlessly cut the rabble down and resumed their daily routines as though this was nothing new- which in fact wasn't.

"Apotheosis into what?" Rogal asked.

"Divine Ascension." The Emperor answered, "I have learned long ago that Chaos cannot be killed, it can only take another form, that is why they are right in saying that Chaos is eternal. To defeat Nurgle and ensure that Isha never again falls into his decayed hands, I must devour him and take his place as the God of Death."

"Little surprises me anymore, this counts as one of them." Rogal said, "What makes you think this plan won't backfire on us?"

"Nothing, that's why I'm doing it." The Emperor replied, "I tire of this endless war, my sons. We have lost so much in fighting it, mankind has lost so much in enduring it. It _must_ end. I've had a dream where humanity reigns supreme, and absent any fear. It nearly stayed a dream, but we have the means to seize it! A true utopia, a heaven on earth- I want this to be so!"

"We all do, father..." Horus said, giving voice to his opinion on the matter. "But this dark and unforgiving future stands so eager to laugh in our faces as it crushes such notions into dust."

The Emperor waved a threatening finger, not against his sons, but against the challenge presented by Horus. "I am the God-Emperor of Mankind, I too shape the future as I will it!"

 **}!{**


	13. Siege Part One

**}!{**

While the Primarchs busied themselves with bolstering the capital sub-sector's mighty defenses in preparation for the Dark God Nurgle's arrival, the Emperor's errand between the veils of reality- a second War in the Webway all but in name- began in earnest. Where once the Adeptus Custodes stood to meet the daemonic incursions as a defense force, their tactics now switched and they pressed for more offensive measures. Isha participated in the struggle by healing the Emperor's warriors of their most grievous injuries when the fights were thickest, but returned to lend her strength to power the ancient machine responsible for holding the warpcraft structure together when the protective runes began to destabilize.

The Emperor's plan of drawing power from the Warp directly from the Imperial Webway Project consisted of three main stages; firstly to stabilize the ancient constructs within the meticulously crafted webway tunnel and the Imperial Palace itself. He would have to personally close each and every warp rift that spawned from Magnus' Folly and seal the breaches in reality by reforming the protective wards he had once placed over them ten thousand years before.

Secondly, the Emperor would have to re-purpose the Webway Project as planned and use the capabilities of the warpcraft technologies therein to strengthen his power as a psyker. He had attempted to draw on such power only once or twice in his long life as Emperor, and in those days even he struggled to contain such chaotic forces let alone use them to purpose.

Lastly, he knew that Terra itself would be vulnerable to the massive backlash of his ambitious plans. Rather than just containing the energies of the Empyrean, the Emperor devised a scheme that at another life he would never have considered. Should his goal of ascending as a true divine go awry, he would have to allow the powers of the Warp to consume Terra. He would wield the eldritch energies as best as he could to prevent such a catastrophe from happening, but he of all people knew that not everything always went according to plan. Destroying Nurgle as opposed to in the same action destroying Terra...there was no contest in such a notion.

A few billion, for mankind entire. Such a sacrifice would be worth the price.

The Emperor did not tell anyone of his misgivings, not even Horus or Isha. Perhaps it was best for them not to know, and then perhaps it was not. Not even the Emperor was certain if it was just old habits dying hard. He opted to keep his thoughts to himself so as not to cause for unnecessary alarm, there was already enough for everyone to worry about now.

And so the long march through the endless warpgates and blackened halls of antiquity began, where the Emperor took to leading his small elite army personally into the breaches of his wayward son. In truth, he would've begun such a reparation project the day Magnus ruined the Imperial Webway, but was beset heavily by the threat of a daemonic outbreak and so resorted to imprison himself upon the Golden Throne. Then, Horus was not at his side. His most trusted son, general and second, was here now. And unlike the dark days of the Horus Heresy, he still had time, and more than enough opportunity to buy some more.

Rogal Dorn, intent on resuming his tasks as Praetorian of Terra and as a way of an apology for his pointless crusade, left Terra for Luna. There, free from the bonds of Guilliman's reforms and the Codex, to rebuild his shattered Legion by the will of his father, Dorn summoned all his sons from across the Imperium in one formal conjoining. Many astartes from the chapters of the Second Founding hadn't even heard of his sudden reappearance after going missing for the last nine thousand years since the Abaddon's First Black Crusade, and when they did, all dismissed the news as a mere rumor and went about their business as usual. All, that is, save for the Black Templars.

Though he despaired quietly at this reaction, Dorn gave a sympathizing thought to his obstinate sons and took what was offered.

The remaining Imperial Fists, and the Black Templars who had yet to be given an enemy to fight, brought in their mighty star fortresses still fresh from the fight at Adeen and formed perimeter after perimeter around the capital sub-sector that they might stall the coming plague legions. Stall, yes, for they knew from experience that even alone the heralds of the dark god were nigh unstoppable, and now that Nurgle himself was speeding them on their way personally they would indeed reach Terra within a fortnight.

That was the grim portent Rogal Dorn foresaw, but even then his efforts would not be found lacking.

He met the many Marshals of the Black Templars, headed by their current High Marshal Helbrecht who was at the time absent due to his quest aiding Primarch Guilliman in the War for Armageddon. The High Marshal lamented that he would not be there to witness his gene-sire reform the legion in person, but nevertheless blessed his battle-brothers to witness it all in his stead, opting to make up for his absence later when his watch has ended and he would return home. Dorn personally went and grasped the hands of every astartes present at the gathering, not at all bothered by the long hours he had to spend to do so. He wanted them to know that he was wrong to leave them to a dark fate, and that he would do everything in his power to make it all right.

His sons, on the other hand, cared little for his misgivings. They were happy to have him back, and that was all that mattered to them.

Looking around, Dorn hesitated in his ministrations. He saw what formed after the Second Founding and found that each of the successor chapters were unique in their own way, forming new cultures while at the same time upholding many of the core principles he strove to teach them in his days as their Primarch. To destroy it now by reforming the Imperial Fists seemed like a crime to Dorn, and so he stayed his hand in his first decree. In his moment of hesitation, the spacemarines looked on in uncomfortable silence.

Rather than doing as he planned, Rogal Dorn praised his sons instead for their undying loyalty and courage in the face of adversity, be it through the hands of their enemies or by those they once called kin. In his booming, rousing voice, the Praetorian declared that although they now bore new names as Successor Chapters, they would always be the Sons of Dorn in his eyes. Raising his robotic arm high for all to see, Dorn said, "I lost this hand and lost my spirit, but I emerged once more as a changed man! The dark days of the Imperium are numbered, and they approach their end! Stand together, and gaze with me at the horizon! Do you see the dawn scattering the shadows?"

They did not cheer, but nodded wordlessly with pride.

"It is our time, my sons!" Dorn slammed his fists together, letting the dull ringing of hardened ceramite resonate across the assembly. "Ours! They come to lay siege to Terra? Well, let us make it a brief one! Let the hammer of the Imperial Fists, once thought good as a mere builder's tool, strike at the pestilent face of the dark god!"

"What would you have us do, father?" Someone called from the crowds.

"What we do best, my son!" Dorn's voice thundered in reply, "We _fortify_ the shit out of the capital!" Then and only then did the Imperial Fists cheer.

* * *

In the eve of what would become one of the greatest stands of mankind in history, Horus and Celestine met privately for the final time.

It happened upon Luna, where Horus inspected the work of his brother Dorn upon its already formidable defenses. The Primarch of the Luna Wolves was seen walking amidst the grounds of an ancient and long forgotten monument near the dark side of the moon. And so the Saint left her coterie of sister-guards and approached the lone Primarch. The biodome provided an adequate atmosphere that the two found breathable, and so they were able to converse without the aid of respirators.

"How are you, my love?" Celestine said softly as she entered the biodome.

Horus sat at the foot of the pedestal where a lonely standard, a flag so ravaged by solar radiation that it now stood bleached white. His eyes were upon the white tapestry, thoughts scouring the meaning of the lost relic. When he heard his paramour enter, he put on a reassuring smile and rose to greet her in turn. "I am well." He kissed her cheek and draped one arm over her shoulders. Celestine melted into Horus' embrace and felt whatever stresses and worries she had fade away in the presence of her lord.

"I feel that something troubles you."

Horus shrugged, "What shouldn't trouble me? The hour of reckoning draws near, and no matter what effort I make I feel it would never be enough."

"Then you lie when you say you are well." Celestine's hand caressed the Primarch's face, "Victory is certain, for the Emperor guides our blades. Let our enemies come, for they will find us with equal resolve."

Horus did not answer, for he knew victory was _never_ certain. He turned his gaze again at the faded flag, "This standard, do you know what it means?"

Celestine took in the bleached monument, then shook her head. "No."

"Father told me about it once. It was to commemorate mankind's first endeavor to colonize space. I don't remember what civilization it was, but I know it was so ancient and backward that they thought venturing into space was impossible. When the first men who walked upon Luna arrived, they said that the first meager steps they made seemed so small to the eye, but it symbolized a great leap for our species. I came here to reflect on the meaning of that standard, and I am still fumbling for its purpose."

Celestine looked on thoughtfully for a moment then said, "The answer lies in the meaning of this monument, love. Today you face uncertainty as that long forgotten civilization did. They only had their primitive tools, and yet they triumphed in the face of adversity. It is our gift as a species to persevere through the hardest of trials, it is our duty as champions to uphold that symbol that those who follow in our footsteps would never have to walk in doubt as we do. Do not despair, Horus. Our road is long, our purpose yet to be realized, we must not stop now."

Horus closed his eyes and nodded, "Yes."

They shared a moment of silence between them as they further reflected on the meaning of the standard.

Then, Celestine spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper as she broke the news to him. "Horus, I'm pregnant."

Horus smiled, "I know."

The Saint turned to look at him with incredulity. "What? How could you?"

"The astropaths of the _Divine Fury_ have been singing for the past months of a new star forming near Terra." Horus revealed, "Singing, my dear. They told me in voices filled with joy that the light shines ever brighter over your flagship. It wasn't hard for me to put two and two together, I knew what would result in our joining that night."

Celestine inquired quietly, "Then, are you pleased?"

Horus drew her in and embraced her, "Why wouldn't I be? I am gladdened, awed, and I am afraid."

The Saint rested her head against Horus' chestplate. "I am as well." She felt Horus' chin nestle against her crown. "It only drives me to fight harder, for I want our child to enter a world free from the horrors of Chaos."

Horus cupped her face in his hands, "And I will be by your side when the day of battle is upon us." His piercing, kind eyes captured her faltering own as he proposed to her. "Marry me, Celestine."

At this Celestine's face lit up with a warm glow. She was familiar with the ancient sacrament, but she had her own reasons to postpone it. She put one hand over his own and shook her head sadly. "But...there is no time, my lord. Our moments together are few and fleeting. Such a ceremony requires time, something we must spend only on the defense of the Holy Capital."

Horus sighed, "Very well. When all this is over, then we will marry."

"I will hold you to that, Horus." Celestine whispered as she closed the distance. Their lips met each other with a tender, testing joining, then escalated into a heated, more passionate embrace. Feeling dizzy at his touch, Celestine uttered a breathless whisper. "My lord, stop! I must leave!" Already, she could feel Horus plucking at the release of her armor.

"We have an hour." Horus growled menacingly, "I must feel your touch before this war takes you away from me again."

"Damn you, Horus!" Celestine breathed. Her lover's defiant hands wrested her armor into pieces, and he stepped out of his own with an eager pace. He took her more feverishly now than the first night they enjoyed each other, and Celestine's cries of protest gradually faded into reluctant moans of delight. She cursed the Primarch for his manipulative ways, calling him the crafty wolf that he was, yet never once putting up a fight as he smothered her insolent lips with fiery kisses.

The sister-guard smiled as they looked upon their betters, approving the indecent acts performed within the biodome. They stepped out and locked the doors behind them, standing watch while the Primarch and his paramour lay together, and not in the least bothered that the two defiled the sanctity of the ancient monument therein.

* * *

The feverish efforts of every citizen and defender of the capital sub-sector culminated into the largest conglomeration of vast fleets, clusters of star fortresses numbering in the hundreds, and recalled elite regiments. Such an endeavor was only seconded by the Siege of Terra in the dark days of the Horus Heresy, one might even ask why the Emperor was worried of a breach if it seemed impossible.

And yet they said the same thing about that unforgettable civil war, when a possessed Horus broke through the gates of the Sol system and burned Terra to its foundations.

In this grueling and highly taxing endeavor, there was no opening speech imparted by the Emperor, for he had his hands full battling the daemons within the Webway and at the same time reconstructing the broken wards in the Imperial Palace. To divert the attentions of the masses, Horus took it upon himself to speak to the people daily. Using the local system's vox network, he further encouraged them and reminded them of the purpose of their monumental tasks. He spared them no truth, even those that spoke of the innumerable billions that would be slain in the coming battle. Yet death was something no one was a stranger to in this future, Horus needn't say anything regarding the fact, but he said something about it anyway.

He didn't want them, from the lowest guardsman to the highest decorated astartes warrior, to feel like a disposable tool. Their lives would not be wasted, he assured them, and that every name of every man and woman who would fall would be remembered for as long as he lived. This task, in itself, was just as daunting as that of constructing Terra's defenses. And yet, Horus bore it with steely resolve.

So, when the first sightings of the Plague Legions came, no one shuddered in fear. No one was a civilian that day, for all had been armed in the past weeks of preparations. When the bloated and fully materialized form of the Dark God Nurgle revealed itself, like a gargantuan nebula cloud of pestilence and decay, formed after sundered worlds and broken moons, the Imperial loyalists only grit their teeth in and met them with thunderous zeal.

The Second Siege of Terra began, and with it the blackness of space lit up with the fires of a thousand hurled bolts of super-heated plasma, lascannon fire and continent-shattering warheads exchanged between the two fleets. Orbital defense structures coordinated with the battlefleets to cripple the plague-ridden voidships of the Deathguard Legion and the splintered Iron Warriors. But Nurgle had his own tricks up his sleeve.

Cackling gleefully within the minds of every loyalist psyker in the sub-sector, the dark patron of decay hurled forth his challenge against the Anathema who stole his beloved bride from his blighted gardens. Through their quivering lips, now rank with pustulent sores and rapidly decaying teeth, he spoke. _**"Despair, sons and daughters of Man, for I am here!"**_

Those too weak of mind to resist his influence found themselves betrayed as their own flesh turned against them. Eyes melted clean out of their sockets as maggots burst free, wriggling out from every orifice in their bodies and feasting on the blighted flesh as the veils of reality thinned precariously in the wake of the dark god's challenging message. The psykers, now claimed by the powers of Chaos, exploded into geysers of black blood and pus as the veils split open. Out of the tears in reality came hordes upon hordes of daemons, all hideously scarred from the conflict of Horus' brief siege of the Plague Realm and all eager to exact vengeance upon the loyalists.

Chaos ensued as whole ships and outposts, star fortresses and orbital stations suddenly turned into little warzones of their own as every defender desperately swiveled about to deal with the sudden daemonic incursion. Though Horus and all his subordinate generals, tacticians and officers, anticipated such a development, they soon found themselves reeling as Nurgle's wrath manifested before their very eyes!

Then, heralded by the thunder of his flagship's guns, Mortarion appeared in the midst of the conflict. Returned after being struck down by the long dead Primarch Perturabo, Mortarion reappeared more twisted than his previous manifestations. His anger burned ever stronger as news reached him telling of the sudden return of Rogal Dorn while he yet reformed in the swirling blackness of the Warp. The all too familiar workmanship of the Praetorian was evident in all he could see.

The blighted storm had at last come for Terra.

 **}!{**


	14. Siege Part Two

**A/N**

 **This one took 3 weeks, and I apologize to you all for the long update. Got hit by writer's block again, and I'm still struggling to find that motivation to get this done. I'm not sure about the quality of this one, let me know in the review section. I'll try to update a little more regularly, like perhaps once a week.**

 **Thanks for waiting, enjoy**

 **Oh and by the way, I apologize in advance to any Ultrasmurf fans among my readers, this chapter might trigger you.**

 **}!{**

Maxwell Raritan opened his eyes, then immediately shut them as the blinding glare of an operating lamp cast its rays over his body. He was aware that he was no longer within the confines of the _Braveheart's_ throne mechanicum, his prison and his home that he had come to know for much of his life as a Freeblade. His body, surprisingly, felt refreshed as though new life had been breathed into them. Gone was the drunkenness of his movements, brought upon by the failing systems of the ancient machine and its demands.

Shielding his eyes from the lamplight, Maxwell sat up from his bed and looked around. Beings of light, half-corporeal men and women bound in shimmering forms of data streams that almost seemed solid to to one's sight, surrounded the Freeblade pilot as though they were there to observe him. Maxwell looked down at his own body as the light dimmed a little and noticed the many surgical tubes and wires attached to the many implanted ports evenly distributed across his chest and legs. With a rough snatch of his hand, the pilot tore the wires free and struggled to get to his feet. But the pilot overestimated his body's capacity to adjust so quickly to his environment, and soon after he collapsed onto the cold metal floor.

 _ **"Please don't."**_ That familiar voice of the one called Isaea, the abominable intelligence who seized control of _Braveheart_ , spoke to him. Her form, oddly bluish in comparison with the others, floated forward and addressed the wary pilot.

"What did you do to me?" Maxwell demanded, refusing to let the creature get close.

 _ **"I saved you from the tyranids. Don't you remember? I remember quite well. You are still as uncooperative as ever."**_

The pilot groaned, propping himself upon the bed. "Why should I, when dealing with the enemies of mankind?"

 _ **"As I've told and demonstrated time and time again, we the Visiro are not your enemy."**_ Her words were like a repetition of their last exchange, Isaea referred to everyone who stood close to her. _**'' Though our flesh is gone, our souls remain human. I don't expect you to believe it, but that is the truth. Why, you ask, should you cooperate?"**_ Isaea paused, willing the room to darken as she showed Maxwell a holographic presentation of the local sector, now overrun with- what anyone familiar with them to know are- the tyranids. The blackness of the shroud spread across the cosmic plane like ink spilled from its pot, ranging from the Ricala Expanse to the fringes and borders of the Secundus Imperialis. _**"This is why."**_

Maxwell looked on in horror, and his jaw slackened as he recognized the systems involved in the infestation. "Throne of Terra! That is Sub-Sector Ultramar! How did they get so far?!"

Isaea nodded, _**"You and I both know what will happen if the pestilent horde isn't stopped. Countless worlds will be devoured, innumerable billions of lives lost- worlds and lives we can still save if we act as one."**_

Though he detested the thought, Maxwell begrudgingly entertained the notion. These abominations offered help, help that could make a difference in the war against the xenos incursion. His honor as a Knight goaded him to utilize every means to save the innocent and defenseless. He would ask the Emperor for forgiveness later, now he must make his move, and he prayed it would not be too costly. "Why? Why do you need me?"

 _ **"For logical reasons, we require the cooperation of the local populace and its combat force. We need you to act as our liaison, that they might not sooner turn their weapons upon us than they would against the tyranids. This is the most cost-efficient of all our options. There are others, naturally more forceful and undignified, but I have convinced my superiors to give this option a chance. I ask that you do not further complicate this situation as much as it already is."**_

"Other 'forceful' and 'undignified' means?"

 _ **"I shall not elaborate."**_

"Hmph." Maxwell grunted, convinced that going with this plan was beneficial to the Imperium. Isaea hadn't shown any cause for him to doubt her words, through their time together, but he could not say the same for her Visiro comrades. "I shall cooperate with your scheme, for now. But make no mistake, if you move to betray me in any way, I shall endeavor to become a greater threat than the tyranids shall pose against you."

 _ **"Excellent."**_ Isaea said, seemingly unfazed by his threat. _**"Now you must remain her for the remainder of the hour. Flesh is fickle, your body must have all the rest it needs."**_

"Flesh is more reliable than...whatever the hell you're made of!" Maxwell retorted as he swiped at the Visiro medical personnel attempting to bring him back to the bed. He found, to his surprise, that these corporeal beings were in fact solid as he first surmised! The Visiro backed away and allowed the stubborn Knight to follow Isaea out into the cold halls of the ship they were in.

She stopped him before he could get through the door, _**"I beg to differ, Maxwell Raritan. Your body requires a pressurized atmosphere in order to survive. We shall construct for you an environment suit to compensate for your many needs. And I know your body has many needs indeed."**_

"You can stop now." Maxwell growled.

 _ **"I...I am unsure as to what you mean."**_

"Stop bragging about how you've sacrificed your bodies in an attempt to grasp the next step of evolution! I need no reminder of how you've abandoned your humanity in the name of forbidden knowledge! If it were up to me, and if this threat of the tyranids were not about, I'd-

The blue ghost almost sounded amused, _**"You'd what?"**_

There was an audible hiss as a capsule nearby opened, and out came a freshly constructed nano-polymer suit. So thin was the unknown fabric that Maxwell thought he had donned a second skin as he suited up. But as soon as the tight skin closed over him, the pilot felt all the hairs in his body stand up as an invisible field lit up around him. Owing to unknown alien technologies, the suit formed a local atmosphere likened to that of the skies of a newly born world. Maxwell inhaled deeply of the crisp air that rapidly formed about his head, and like the vapor that tickled his nose his anger faded. "Never mind."

 _ **"Moving on then."**_

Maxwell and the ghost traversed the wide and empty halls of the ship down to the hangar where his mount, the iconic Freeblade _Braveheart_ of House Raritan, stood awaiting its pilot. Maxwell half-expected the abominations to tamper with his mount, like tear off his prized livery and trophies, but found to his surprise and relief that all that changed was the lack of dents and scratched on its hull. "What did you do?" He asked this as he inspected his mount, shooing off the drones attempting to scan the Knight as he moved from catwalk to lifting crane.

 _ **"We repaired your mount as best as we could. Everyone's recommending I replace the ancient thing instead of wasting resources on repairs, but I thought better of it. Though we never had more than a few minutes with each interaction, I knew you'd appreciate it best if I left it as it was- minus the unnecessary scratches and dents of course."**_

Maxwell thought about thanking the abomination, but stifled the urge to do so. He still didn't trust her, or any of them, and with good reason. There was no need for him to build bridges with them, and the Knight felt there would never come a time that he would need to do so. "Let's get this over with."

 _ **"Quite right."**_ Isaea agreed, _**"We are currently converging upon the Hive Fleet as we speak. The helm estimated our arrival upon the engagement zone should be less than an hour and a half away, should there be no complications along the way. Now that you're here, I'd like to ask your permission to upgrade your mount."**_

Naturally offended by the gesture, Maxwell growled. "What for?"

Isaea expected this was not offended in turn, _**"You will be facing the elite of the tyranids, that does not exclude their bio-titans. Though we wish to keep you as intact as possible for confrontations with the local populace, we anticipate fierce encounters with the invading forces."**_

The Knight thought on the offer for a moment, goaded by the promise of glorious battle and a chance to prove to the abominations the superiority of the Imperium's technology, though ancient it may be. Regardless, Maxwell was curious as to what the Visiro had to offer. "Show me what you have."

* * *

The Ynnari and the Ultramarines, along with all their successor chapters to form up the once sundered legion, banded together for the first time, though not at all as fluidly as Horus' young legion managed. Bloodshed was narrowly avoided as the two factions faced each other down upon the hotly contested soil of Ultramar. The camaraderie the aeldari experienced with the Luna Wolves was not present here, and bonds of loyalty had to be forged once again. At first, the Prophetess Yvraine's words were met with disdain and all her promises fell upon deaf ears. It was only through the voice of Chapter-Master Marneus Calgar that reason was seized and the Ynnari were spared another needless conflict against the Imperium. The Chapter-Master was aware of the methods of the Primarch Horus, and he knew that the Emperor condoned whatever means he had used to restore the Imperium. In his wisdom, Calgar considered the Ultramarines were above aimless hatred and that they needed the Ynnari here as they were vastly outnumbered against the tyranid incursion. It was enough for the Ultramarines to set aside their grievances against the xeno and focus on the more pressing threat at hand.

The bulk of their fighting force was still with the Primarch Roboute Guilliman on Armageddon, their campaign against Ghazkhull Uruk Thraka keeping them occupied for the remainder of the year, and away from Sub-Sector Ultramar. They had faced the tyranids many times before, but never with the odds they had now.

The capillary spires had already risen above the ground. The skies cried tears of blackest bile, and the air grew thin as the very core of the world began to give out. No one dared speak the truth, no one dared confirm the fears that gnawed at everyone's minds.

Ultramar, Maccrage was already lost. The infestation had already seeped into the planet's veins. The very earth shifted beneath their feet, turning against its inhabitants and surrendering to the hunger of the Hive Fleet.

Yes, no one dared to speak the truth when they met upon Marneus' flagship- save for the most unwelcome voice in the room.

"Ultramar is already lost!" Yvraine declared, earning herself the ire of all the Ultramarines present. The thunderous cries of rage from their vox-grills nearly drowned out her words as the Ultramarines condemned her declarations. Even then, the fearless Prophetess continued. "While we yet sit about bickering amongst ourselves, the Hive Fleet feasts upon your world! Ultramar cannot be saved, but the tyranids can still be defeated!"

"Silence!" Marneus Calgar bellowed, his command immediately followed by the hush of the murderous voices. "Let her speak!"

"The Hive Fleet has not reached its prime, it is yet vulnerable while it feasts." Yvraine explained, "Now is the hour to strike at its heart! Now, for to wait would mean facing it at the height of its power!"

"We know this, Prophetess." Marneus replied grimly, "We know what must be done."

Yvraine tilted her chin upwards, her eyes gazing past her nose at the Chapter-Master in the usual gesture of a condescending aeldari. "Then you would know that even through the sacrifice of one world, one system, you might save thousands."

"Maccrage is no mere world for you to speak of callously!" Marneus' booming voice declared, "It is the heart of every son born under the blue standard of Guilliman, the root where we all have stemmed from! If you cannot see the gravity of this heavy toll that we pay, you and your kin have well deserved to lose your place in this galaxy."

There was no sneer in her voice, but Yvraine's words bore the chilling cold of a thousand years of despair. "You'll get used to it."

With that said, the Prophetess turned heel and walked out of the room with her entourage of aeldari warriors and warlocks, bearing the icy glares of the Imperials present. "My fleet will begin the assault as soon as I leave this vessel. Do try to keep up, mon'keigh."

After she was gone, Marneus heaved a heavy sigh and said, "We are above aimless hatred, but that xeno woman..."

"Shall I arrange for an execution team once the battle has been won, my lord?" Someone offered.

"Tempting, brother." Marneus declined, "The Ultramarines would not deal the first blow. Let the xenos bluster all they want, we shall do our duty and that is all." He then turned the fleet commanders and gave them his blessing to begin the campaign. "Brothers and sisters, let us repel this scum."

"My lord, a moment?" The communications officer said, approaching the Chapter-Master. After he was given permission, he reported quietly about the alarming news concerning the capital sector. "Terra is under attack. The forces of Chaos, led by the Daemon Primarch Mortarion, have come for the Everqueen. My lord, the news also reports of the direct involvement of the Dark God Nurgle."

Marneus mood darkened, and his frown deepened. He understood now why the communications officer wanted to break the news quietly. They had enough problems here in Ultramar already, there was no use alarming the others to the plight of their capital. "Speak of this to no one. I shall be the one to decide when the Ultramarines must know."

The man bowed and moved to return to his position, "Yes, my lord."

* * *

"I never thought I'd see this again." Horus remarked, lip twitched in utter disgust as his armored feet plowed through the thick muck bubbling out of the sweat pores of the land he stood upon. From here, it looked like miles and miles of blighted and infested plagued earth plucked out of the Nurgle's Realm of Chaos. From the eyes of the fleets above, one would reel in abject horror at the sight of the unfortunate Luna Wolves and Imperial Fists marching up the very hand of the Dark God Nurgle!

With the majority of the fleets battling against the forces of the Deathguard and the daemonic incursions spawned out of the warp rifts within the Imperial vessels and orbital stations, Horus took what he could from his own legion and of his allies and boarded a hundred drop pods to the surface of Nurgle's body. Intent on slaying his brother, the Daemon Primarch Mortarion, that they might deal a heavy blow against the forces of Chaos, Horus consigned himself to this risky endeavor and launched a surprise attack on the approaching dark patron. Mortarion would see the challenge brought by their brazen assault and head straight for Horus. The gamble, Horus hoped, would pay off and buy the Imperium precious time.

"The way you said that sounds like you've been looking forward to it, my lord." Captain Thavos of the Luna Wolves Aggressors said. "Do you still have the Rose that Eldar witch gave you?"

"Yes, it will serve its purpose once more." Horus held Soulrender aloft for all to see the beautiful divine flower wrapped around the spear's shaft tightly as though it melded perfectly together with the unnatural metals of the godspear's form. The Primarch raised his weapon against the daemonic hordes rising from the distance to meet the landing party. "And now, forward my friends! We march for Mortarion! Deal a grievous wound against Nurgle, while my father prepares the killing blow!"

"For the Imperium of Man!" The terrifying vox-grilled battlecries of the Luna Wolves drowned out the squeals and incoherent howls of the approaching mass of writhing, pustulent flesh that threatened to overwhelm the adeptus astartes.

The Aggressors, Primaris spacemarines adept at close-quarters and heavy fire-support, grinded down the opposition with a combination of frightening bursts from their boltstorm gauntlets and frags from their fragstorm launchers. Thavos was skeptical of the designs of the new generation of astartes, and even more so when he was appointed as captain of these specialized squads, preferring the traditional wargear and equipment of the former generation- such as he was familiar with. Given time, the hulking brute of a spacemarine took a great appreciation for the closely similar tactics of the Aggressors and eventually claimed the title given to him.

Thavos was the only captain of the Luna Wolves he had with him at the time, for Horus' small council of seconds were miles away, scattered in different theaters of the war. Even so, the lone captain proved to be enough for the campaign he was waging now, so Horus counted it as a small comfort.

 **}!{**


	15. A Phoenix Rises

**A/N**

 **Worship ME? HERESY! You shall worship no one save for the Emperor of Mankind alone! My vigilant brothers and sisters, hunt down this guest reviewer and show him the error of his ways! XD**

 **Jokes aside, thank you for your continued support, they help me push through the writer's block than when I face it alone. I aim to keep the quality and pacing steady, hopefully I succeed in doing so. Enjoy the update, I'll see about another one next week.**

 **}!{**

Taldeer awoke in darkness, fresh out of a terrifying dream that had plagued her for many a night in the past months. The little family had settled well into Calmainoc, finding refuge under the banner of Ulthwe. The sense of urgency had long faded in their minds, save for the Farseer. Taldeer's eyes adjusted to the dim light streaming from the cracks in between the blinds of her bedroom windows. Due to its close proximity to the Webway gates and the Eye of Terror just well thirteen lightyears away, day no longer begat night as the baleful glare of the Warp banished the shadows of the void. The aeldari woman fumbled around the covers and patted an empty space next to her.

Liivi was already awake and gone.

Taldeer groaned as another ache hammered against her skull, she rubbed at her temples as she attempted to wrestle the psychic energies pulsing through her mind back into place. The visions and dreams were getting more and more vivid as the days went by. She knew her time was fast approaching, all of Ulthwe knew it to be so. However, she had yet to reveal to Senua what fate had in store for her when it all came to pass.

The Farseer made her bed, dressed herself in a thick robe and walked out of the room to greet the day.

Her husband was sitting at the table waiting for her with two plates that served as their breakfast. An emptied plate in the far corner told her that their daughter had already eaten, giving them all the time they needed to share what moments they had left. Liivi had his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced as they propped up against his chin. He hadn't moved at all since he sat there, for his mind was deep in thought. The Vindicare stared at her silently, almost as if he dreaded to hear himself speak. Rightly so, for all they had to talk about bore ill tidings and killed the mood. Eventually, they almost never talked at all.

Taldeer put on a mask of reassurance as she smiled at her beloved. She put her hand on his arm as she took her place beside him and began eating. His expression never changed, until finally Taldeer had had enough. "What is it?"

"It doesn't have to end that way." Liivi reignited that old argument, something that almost made Taldeer regret ever revealing her visions to her husband. For a marksman, in the aspect of visions and farsight, he was short-sighted.

Taldeer's visions of the future, as shared and compared with those of the Seer Council on Ulthwe, told of many outcomes concerning herself and the Craftworld. Specific actions, great or small, affected the course they took. Paths intertwined, and would soon lead to an inevitable result. An attack on Calmainoc was expected and so was her death, the latter of which sparked an abrasive confrontation with her husband. To Liivi, understandably as all human minds tend to turn, fate was fluidic not static, which all Eldar-kind viewed as a naive perspective of the order of things. Fate was set, their actions shaped the future. While it might have sounded the same, the aeldari had untold millennia to realize it was anything but.

Liivi persisted, a trait Taldeer always found adorable, but in this case unnecessary. "It _will_ end that way, husband."

Earlier that week, Taldeer had gone to advise the Council to bring the Craftworld on an exodus into Imperial space. Whether or not they would ask for help from the Imperium of Man, what was important to her was that they left Calmainoc before the enemy breaches their fortress of solitude. Although she was not guided by visions on this plan, Taldeer knew that the safety of the aeldari now lay in the hands of mankind. Their age of superiority had ended long ago, a lifetime of struggling against that fact taught her everything she needed to know of it. The Council, however, did not see it that way. While the threat of an incoming invasion by the Ruinous Powers was indeed taken seriously, her proposition was dismissed as foolhardy and beneath the honor of the Craftworld. Taldeer had been silenced at every turn, reminded by her superiors that she and her family of lowborn mon'keigh were on Calmainoc due to their good graces, and that such good graces had its limits. They would not allow themselves to be thrown at the mercy of the Imperials as many of their wayward kin have stubbornly insisted on doing. Frustrated, Taldeer left the Council to their plans and attempted to work her way into gathering support from the people of Ulthwe. She stopped only when the visions became clear, and Taldeer knew then what must be done.

And what must be sacrificed.

"Liivi." Taldeer said softly as she took his hands in hers, "I do not reveal these visions because it is the end, I reveal them to you because there is hope. Our daughter, our little Senua-

"She does _not_ deserve to lose her mother." Liivi interrupted.

Taldeer closed her eyes to hold back the tears, "No one does, but in this unforgiving universe no one can make that choice."

"We can!" Liivi growled, "No god, not even the Emperor can know the future! You rely too much on visions and dreams to know that our fate is whatever we make of it!"

The Farseer's voice broke for a brief moment, then her composure steadied itself. The same old argument, she had had enough of it. She and Liivi could debate on the nature of things all their lives and never go anywhere. However, when it concerned their daughter it was another thing entirely. "And my fate is written by my own hand. I don't accept this just because I believe there is nothing we can do, no. I accept this because it is the best course of action anyone can take in times like these. Senua has her destiny, mine is the catalyst to ensure she seizes hers. But I cannot do it alone."

Liivi, as expected, couldn't let it go. An instinct, ancient but never forgotten, forbade him from backing down without exhausting all options. He was a man, she was his woman, and he would burn the world if it meant he could save her. Liivi's devotion to her touched her heart, but what she had to ask him do would test such devotion. "I...I can't..."

"You have to." Taldeer said, determined to see this through. "I need you to do your part, not just as my husband but as a father."

Liivi reached out and took his wife's face in the palms of his hands, knowing it would probably be the last time he would be able to do so. Her face, the one thing that kept his finger off the trigger in the wilderness all those years ago. Liivi marveled, as he had every day for the many years he spent married to this amazing woman, at how she never aged since then. He gazed intently into her eyes, those captivating orbs of bright violet and dark green that alienated her from him at first glance, but told of a soul irrevocably human. Taldeer, brave warrior-priestess of Ulthwe and Seer of the Council.

Taldeer, loving wife and mother of his little Senua.

The Farseer leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't just a mere kiss, but one that spoke the unsaid goodbye. Liivi knew this, and it hurt worse than a drukhari's splinter round. Their foreheads met as they closed their eyes to bask in the serenity of the moment. Warning klaxons, sirens and gunfire in the distance told of the anticipated outcome of all their efforts, but the couple paid it no heed. They treasured the moment together for as long as they could, then accepted the unavoidable duty that must be carried out. Liivi leaned back and tried his best to hide his sorrow, though not in the least bit succeeding in doing so. "I will do as you ask."

"Then take your rifle and prepare for battle."

* * *

Khornate Berserkers owed their origins to the bloodstained Primarch Angron of the Worldeaters Legion, with most of their more recent devotees of the Blood God following from varying legions but shown to barely keep up with their predecessors. While many true warriors of the Worldeaters were rarely sighted in realspace since their exodus into the Eye of Terror, those few that managed to slip back into reality usually pledged their blades momentarily to fight alongside warbands that promised a heavy toll of bloodshed and skulls for the Skull Throne. One of these warbands, categorized as such due to their small numbers, were the Iron Warriors. Since the death of their Primarch at the hands of the Anathema, these followers of the Ruinous Powers scattered throughout the Imperium. The goals of these traitor astartes varied, but worked together for one ultimate outcome- to become a thorn in the side of mankind.

The Iron Warriors on Aksinar IV, however, sought to become a little bit more than a mere annoyance. Through the guidance of Greater Daemons of Tzeentch, this lone warband deliberately landed upon the backwater desert world for a prize that would greatly alarm the Imperium- if they knew exactly what they were there for.

Particularly, the Salamanders.

A low growl, inhuman and animalistic, grated out of the fanged maw that was his helmet's vox-grill. "This hunger...it gnaws..." The Iron Warriors had their weapons trained on the pack of wolves they had brought with them to the desert world, in preparation for the impending conflict should the berserkers choose to let what little sanity was left in them go and let loose upon their allies. A throb, an echo of a voice of power. Those of mortal ears cannot hear it, but those attuned to the powers of corruption heard it. Khorne called on his followers to unleash their primal urges, while Tzeentch whispered of plots, plans and schemes.

"Seize your impulses!" Vrakkar Mournseeker, the closest the warband had to a leader, bellowed at his subordinates as the sorcerers communed with their malevolent patrons. The towering Chaos champion hefted his greatmace, a weapon as long as an astartes with its massive head the size of a dreadnought's arm. "We are close now! Hold fast, and your bloodlust will soon be slaked!"

"We are but a short distance from the bestial mind. Our paths intertwine, but don't mistake them for being joined." The closest he had to an adviser, an ancient astartes gifted with the tactical genius of their gene-sire that went by the name of Anres, calmly spoke on behalf of his impatient brothers. "Our brothers all think it, I merely speak it. You've kept us in the dark long enough. Perhaps an explanation would calm their frustrations, my lord?"

"Do I sense your desire to undermine my authority?" Vrakkar growled, his malevolent red gaze casting its baleful glare upon the voice of reason.

"Not at all." Anres replied, not in the least intimidated by the champion. "Believe me, if I wished to undermine you so, you'd never know it." The gauntlet had been thrown, neither of them needed to spell it out. As the two traitors stared each other down, it was clear enough for the both of them that once they had retrieved the artifact they were on the backwater world for, they would have their duel that they would prove whether brutality bested cunning or vice versa.

"We seek the Engine of Woes!" Ygethmor, Chosen of Abaddon the Despoiler, announced out of turn. He owed no loyalty to any of these lesser upstarts, it was clearly stated the day he joined paths with the Iron Warriors. The Chaos sorcerer of the Black Legion had not been seen since the devastating defeat of his master upon the Cadian Gate, but this did not in any way deter him from hatching many a scheme to destroy the Imperium from the inside out. Where lofty eyes sought to combat threats like the orks, the Devourers, or the Necrons of the newly awakened Phaeron of Adeen, Ygethmor's corruptive influence was evident with every world he visited.

Sometimes, he didn't even need to set foot on the world to spread the seed of the Ruinous Powers. They would take root, forcing the Imperium to conduct a cleanse. Each Exterminatus fed souls to the Warp, and so Ygethmor saw it as a victory either way.

Recently, however, his purpose took a sharp turn as his foul masters in the Empyrean instructed him to seek the artifact of the long lost Primarch Vulkan. After conducting several Chaos incursions to distract the local government, Ygethmor landed upon Aksinar IV to unearth the artifact. This attempt, however, was not without its own complications. Soon after they had landed, tensions between warbands rose and led to unnecessary bloodshed that set Ygethmor's plans so far back that by the time he had mustered enough of a fighting force to finish the job, the Tallarn Desert Raiders and their allies had arrived on Aksinar IV and thus began another frustratingly long campaign on his part.

Naturally livid at the stupidity of his subordinates, Ygethmor dealt harshly with the feuding warbands and left them to their fates at the hands of the Imperial Guard. He was then left with the Iron Warriors, whom he thought would be smart enough on their own to understand the importance of this venture. Ygethmor was tired of having to play the underhanded games his patron enjoyed, and so he gave the Iron Warriors their hard sought answer in an attempt to garner their support.

"An engine of destruction said to be capable of harnessing the power of the stars." Ygethmor continued, "Its wrath has never before been unleashed, so we shall be the first to do so."

Anres crossed his arms and stared at the sorcerer, "I don't believe you would have us unearth this said artifact without an ulterior motive. Do you plan on using it on anything other that sowing ruin upon our enemies?"

The ancient one was trying to goad him into revealing more than he would let on, Ygethmor knew anything he would say would be found to the dissatisfaction of all who heard so it was useless to say anything anyway. " _My_ enemies, Brother Anres." The sorcerer intended the words as a warning. While Anres did not prove a threat at the moment, he would be treated as such if he stood in his way to ascension.

Anres frowned deeply, catching on quickly to the sorcerer's meaning.

"At the center of this maze of canyons before us lies an ancient doorway that would lead us into the heart of a mountain. The Primarch of the Salamanders thought it wise to hide away the artifacts separately, which we would prove to be otherwise. You want bloodshed? You'll undoubtedly get more than you bargain for- if you cooperate for now! Come, you brutes of Perturabo! The hour grows late!"

A few kilometers from the warband's position, a small squad of Alaitoc Rangers watched carefully from the safety of an overhanging cliff. Obscured from sight through ancient stealth fields that masked their lithe forms. Among them was the Autarch Elarique Swiftblade, an aeldari woman who long had held a great deal of enmity against Ygethmor for his many atrocities against her people. She tracked down the sorcerer from a long and harrowing trail of destruction along the Imperial sector until she finally arrived with her kin upon Aksinar IV. For Ygethmor to see to this errand personally, Elarique knew it must be incredibly important for him to risk the journey. Therefore, she would have to exercise the utmost caution in dealing with this confrontation.

"Mistress, what shall we do next?"

The young but experienced Autarch thought long and hard on the required course of action, "A direct assault would mean the death of us all, and to wait in the shadows for too long might allow the sorcerer to gather his strength to the point that he might prove unstoppable. Damn it all, another impossible dilemma." The rumble of a powerful engine in the distance caught the group's attention.

Looking down, they spotted the massive silhouette of an Imperial Macharius battle-tank. The corners of Elarique's lips twitched into a smirk as she received the inspiration she needed, "I stand corrected. This might do just fine."

* * *

The attack on the Craftworld Ulthwe was long predicted by the Seer Council and by Farseer Taldeer, but no amount of resource or martial prowess could wholly prepare them for such an onslaught. Their numbers were like the sea, their thirst for blood insatiable, and their might immeasurable. It was predicted, but as all things, never the whole picture. Calmainoc was assaulted by no mere collection of warbands of Chaos, the aeldari harbor was assaulted by the servants of their greatest enemy.

The Emperor's Children, led by none other than the Daemon Prince Fulgrim himself!

He appeared, not as a thundering warhead as his peers would've loved to come, but with the grace of the phoenix as he had come to be known. The mere sight of him took one's breath away- literally. Those of weak minds found themselves choking as their hearts stopped and their lungs atrophied, leaving contorted corpses in the streets of the aeldari stronghold as the Daemon Prince slithered by. Those of stronger wills survived, though ultimately giving ground as they slipped further inwards into the temporary safety of the walls of the city.

Warlocks and warriors all, they conducted lightning-fast strikes throughout the harbor, both in an attempt to stem the flow of the traitor astartes legion and to save what they could of the populace. Among them was Taldeer and her husband Liivi, the latter of which collected a very heavy toll of kills as he supported his wife from afar. Using her formidable psychic gifts, the Farseer brought down the wrath of the heavens upon her enemies. Fire reduced the devotees of Slaanesh to ash and lightning tore their fighters out of aeldari skies, hurling their wrecks down to sow destruction upon the purple-clad horde. Ronahn moved from district to district, seizing the opportunity to snatch every civilian out of harm's way before the streets were soon after cleansed with fire.

Knowing that the Seer Council was preparing a daring escape into the Webway with all they could save, despite deliberately discarding Taldeer's advise to do so months before, Taldeer bravely volunteered to buy them all the time they needed. She cared little for her great disappointment in the Council at this point, she only cared that she could save her people, even if it was perhaps for the last time. A hundred warriors, all friends of the Farseer from many years serving under and alongside her, rallied to her side to participate in the coming battle.

Taldeer took heart in seeing them stand by her, but at the same time felt saddened as she realized she had foreseen their deaths as well as hers. They would die bravely, but painfully.

And she would suffer the worst of those fates. Seeing it over and over again, however, gave her enough strength to face it.

"Be remembered this day, brothers and sisters!" Liivi's influence clearly rubbing off on her words. "A new age is dawning upon us! We die knowing that our life of running is at an end! This is it, the last day we exist as refugees! Isha weeps for the last time!"

The warriors, shocked at her prophecy of their deaths, at first were silent. But as they took in her last words, they realized times were indeed changing- and for the better. They nodded grimly, then a shared maddened chuckle sounded across the formation. The hordes of the Ruinous Powers sought to claim their souls that day, they chose to raise the price a hundredfold. "Yes, Isha weeps for the last time!"

The dreaded sound of the Kakophoni spacemarines rang clear through the air as the horde came in sight. The marksmen of the Craftworld fired first, felling hundreds of daemons at once in one volley. As the horde closed the distance, the banshees brandished their swords and met the Slaaneshi devotees in combat, opening the way for the reapers to begin mowing down the waves with their powerful shuriken cannons.

Then, the chilling voice of the Daemon Prince cackled. "The canvas is ready." His words scratched at the back of their skulls as he revealed himself to them. "Time for my next masterpiece."

Understandably, everyone turned their weapons against Fulgrim in an attempt to lay him low.

"Mother!"

Taldeer's composure wavered for a moment as she heard her daughter call her name. Then she remembered the purpose of it all, why she was receiving those harrowing visions in the first place. When even her husband scolded Senua for appearing in the midst of the carnage, Taldeer bade him to cease. Senua must bear witness to this. It was one of the most crucial outcomes that must result from her sacrifice.

"Senua! Get back, support your father!" Taldeer said, turning quickly as she heard the droning of a spacemarine raptor descending upon her with roaring chainsword ready to chew through her flesh. The Farseer stopped short when she realized the raptor descended without his head. Though she didn't have the time to thank him, she knew her husband was watching over her.

The Farseer weaved her way through the masses, effortlessly cutting a graceful but bloody swatch across the battlefield until she reached the foot of a pile of banshee corpses. Atop the bloodied mount stood a Chaos champion of Slaanesh, a terrifyingly beautiful creature drenched with thick red ichor that glared down at the Farseer. His fellow champions surrounded her, only to meet her loyal comrades in the melee as the warp spiders fearlessly teleported into the frey.

In the midst of the conflict, Taldeer felt at last that detached feeling, as if she was a puppet whose strings were moved by an unseen master. She could have such strings cut, but then all she had worked for would be undone. She looked back for a moment as she avenged each fallen brother in the clash, she looked for Senua amidst the many bodies pressed against one another in the crush of battle.

This was part of the dream, the visions. This was what had to come to pass.

Suddenly, Taldeer found herself held aloft as a massive blade impaled itself through her back! The Farseer uttered a strangled gasp as her murderer came into view. His smile offered sweet surrender, eyes captivating her gaze and banishing all thoughts of despair. She fought it, but the feeling of peace was too great. It was an illusion offered by the Dark Prince, and she knew it. Even in her final moments, Slaanesh offered Taldeer release.

She wouldn't give her that much of a satisfaction.

Taldeer spat in the eye of Fulgrim, earning herself his ire as his quick temper got the better of him. The Daemon Prince took hold of the Farseer, and before the horrified eyes of her husband and daughter, he tore her apart. Jets of blood burst in all directions, painting a gruesome impression of a bloody rose before the fountain succumbed to gravity and stained the rubble-strewn battleground.

Liivi looked away, aghast beyond words. She told him how it would end, he knew this was that moment. Shakily, the Vindicare turned his gaze to his daughter. Senua had already left his side and had defied her mother's instruction, just as she said she would. The latent powers within the girl, barely tapped until now, surfaced with all its unforeseen potency.

Eyes blazing white with the powers of the Warp, Senua gave in to the rage and seized the flood threatening to burst out of her mortal shell. She was but a child, so small in the scale of all that stood before her, and yet she cared little for limits as she faced the Daemon Prince who slew her mother. This was all she cared about- destroying everyone and anything in her path.

Liivi realized what Taldeer spoke of, that moment where her death served as a catalyst to unlock their child's true potential. He now bore witness to the realization of her prophecy.

Senua uttered a deafening scream that couldn't have been her own voice. Ronahn never heard it in person, but he could've sworn that scream was a fraction as powerful as the birth-scream of a god. Reality shifted and swayed to the untethered and raw psychic power she unleashed, so powerful that it surprised even the Daemon Prince as it throttled him off the mountain of corpses! The Warp's flow was reversed as a singularity spawned in the middle of the battlefield, its force yanking every traitor astartes off the ground and sky and pulling it into the crushing influence of its rapidly swirling mass of infinity.

Reality was the Immaterium's anchor as well as its greatest enemy. Somehow, Senua unknowingly unlocked this ironic ability to manipulate the Warp as she saw fit. Only two other psykers in the galaxy knew of this, now one was well on the road to add itself to their number.

Fulgrim's material form soon became caught in the pull of the singularity, unable to escape as the Warp weakened around him and his form soon after crushed by this child's assault. His pride wounded, and though he never had a chance to say it out loud, Fulgrim swore he would hunt her down for this slight. With that, the Daemon Prince was snuffed out of realspace along with a staggering amount of traitor astartes as the singularity ate itself out. The battlefield was cleared for the moment, with the surviving aeldari looking on in shocked wonder at what they had just witnessed.

Though victorious, Senua fell to her knees defeated. Her tiny frame shook with sobs as she knelt beside the remains of what used to be her mother.

Liivi approached her, then Ronahn. The ranger looked down at the limbless torso of his twin sister and bent to pick up something from her neck. Liivi saw the sadness lift from his face as the aeldari marksman showed him her intact soulstone. The Vindicare smiled inwardly as he thought of his wife willingly sacrificing herself to strengthen their child, to prepare her for what lay ahead.

"Now I see why she chose to do this." Ronahn said softly, handing over the stone to Liivi. He then beckoned for him to comfort the grieving girl. "Go, she needs her father...now more than ever."

 **}!{**


	16. Deus Vult

**A/N**

 **I've been working to get to this event for a long time, and now it's here! Enjoy!**

 **}!{**

Nurgle chuckled with amusement at the little ones crawling up his arm like ants. The gargantuan mass of decayed flesh, easily the size of a small nebula that was his head, turned to gaze upon the Luna Wolves primaris spacemarines battling atop his forearm against the overwhelming tide of plague legionaries. Traitor Deathguard tides, his favorites among billions of followers, did battle in an attempt to stall the loyalists from gaining the upper hand. All around the monstrous material form of the patron of decay, thousands among thousands of loyalist battleships gave it their all. Gun batteries fired until their barrels glowed with the heat, even in the cold of space, as they discharged against daemon infested traitor void-vessels. The Deathguard, and all their fellow devotee warbands, were losing ships fast. They made up for this, however, by calling on the plague-ridden beasts of Nurgle and the destroyer swarms that could weave their way through the thickest crossfires and spill into breaches that they might infect and severely impair the capabilities of each loyalist ship within reach.

The battle was just as intense as one might think of in that terrible era, but fought for a purpose on a much grander scale. For even as the war raged around the golden sector of worlds that was Segmentum Solar, the Emperor continued his work on the warp device that would lend him the strength the devour the patron of decay. The device, named by the Emperor as the _Divine Circuit_ , an engine forged with the ingenuity of human hands and shapened by the chaotic powers of the Warp, hummed with new life. After long months of preparation and planning, it was finally ready.

Standing at the pedestal where the ancient Golden Throne once stood, the Emperor gazed up at the warp device he had worked so hard to accomplish and thought just as long and hard about the consequences of what he was about to do. Long ago, he was once a man made with unquestionable will and carried out his decisions without a hint of doubt in them. Those were the days when the worst things he had to worry about was the next tech-barbarian warlord he would have to duel to gain the support of his people, or wrestling a silver dragon into submission.

The complex device, looking almost archaic in its proportions, spread its massive tubes like the roots of a tree across the heart of the Imperial Palace and deep down through the old earth until it reached the outer mantle of Terra's own core. He wasn't sure whether the thing would hold together, or in the worst case, pull the planet apart in its attempt to stabilize the Warp as its energies would be directed into him. It would do its work, true enough, but the world would be put at risk- serious risk.

To the Adeptus Custodes present, all they could see was the towering glorious figure before them, head hung as though in despair and in deep thought. The Emperor dared not share his fears. He knew now that if by not risking anything, he would risk everything. He had to do this, whatever it may cost. Everyone here, and everyone everywhere, looked up to and revered him. They were willing to sacrifice everything, and anything, just to live another day. He would have them live longer, even if it meant destroying Terra.

And so, willing the wires to snake up to his arms and body, the Emperor became one with the _Divine Circuit_. As he did so, the Emperor of Mankind felt as though a backbreaking weight was set upon his shoulders. It was far from agonizing, but he felt as though the earth was trying to swallow him up! The Emperor gasped and fell to one knee, fists clenched tightly as he fought to stand himself up. The massive turbine rings before him hummed with increasing intensity as they spun and spun about, gleaming with vibrant colors torn from the veil of reality. The entire complex shook with the full force of the chaotic energies as the eldritch powers flowed freely into the tubes and into the refiner cores installed all around the throneroom. The flood then pumped through the coils distributed all across the chamber, then seeped into the Emperor's body through the tubes fed into his armor. It was like rebirth, but on a slower and far more complex manner.

Outside, the people of the capital stood where they were. Officials, leaders and men of the cloth, astartes and sororitas, warriors of the faith or fighting arms of the Imperial Guard. Servants, clerks, beggars and other lowborn. All work on Terra had ceased. The pious had knelt where they stood on the streets, in their rooms and offices, even in the newly sprouted fields and gardens outside the cities. They had come together to pray, to lend their strength to their god.

Isha stood with her coterie of bodyguards upon one of the many balconies outside the Imperial Palace. She could feel the violent tremors of the _Divine Circuit_ , how they shook the very foundations of the ancient complex so much that it threatened to level it to the ground entirely! Willing life into the seeds sprouting from the reborn earth, Isha commanded them to take root and grow. Saplings transformed into trees within seconds, digging and spreading their roots throughout the palace in an attempt to hold the palace together. Even the ancient stone walls, she commanded to hold fast, and they obeyed the goddess of life.

Back in the _Divine Circuit_ , a dozen warp tears opened all across the chamber. "Ready yourselves!" The Emperor bellowed, "They come!"

The Adeptus Custodes, eager to defend their master and friend, brandished their weapons in preparation for the coming daemonic incursion. They expected to face the plague daemons and vile servants of the Dark God Nurgle, but were surprised to see the familiar trappings of gilded border and mesmerizing azure in their stead- the signature livery of the Thousand Sons rubric marines. Even the Emperor himself was surprised to see them, even more so that the servants of Change were able to bypass his protective wards so easily.

"Traitors!" The Custodes roared, instantly discharging bolter-fire to repel their hated enemies. The rubric marines, likewise, fired back.

But in that moment, a hand reached out and snapped its fingers. A powerful spell was cast, and the room was stilled. Time was brought to a screeching halt as a powerful and loathed figure strode away from the warp tears towards the Emperor. Blue mists wafted out of his cloak as it moved through space as though it seethed with power, likely an artifact crafted from the warp as well. His armor, marine blue and shimmering with the stars of the night, gleamed in the golden light of the chamber.

"Ugh." The Emperor rasped in disgust with a casual roll of the eyes. "You."

Ahzek Ahriman looked around him in condescension, finding the Emperor's work crude due to its rushed execution. "I love what you've done with the place. I'm surprised you didn't find the time to paint it all in gold."

"I don't believe you came all this way to criticize my preference for room decor." The Emperor huffed, rising up in spite of the weight on his soul. "What are you doing here?"

"Straight to the point, good." The sorcerer said in approval, "Simply put, I'm here to make a deal."

The Emperor frowned, "You came all this way, barged into my palace with weapons drawn, and now expect a granted audience with me? Your presumptuous nature rivals that of even Magnus!"

"Now, be fair. Your men fired first." Ahriman pointed out, "And yes, I came all this way with weapons drawn just to have a talk with the Emperor himself. Now, before you attempt to blast me out of existence out of impulse, would you at least hear what I have to say?"

"I would not!" The Emperor growled, straining against the crushing force of the warp flowing into him. It took all he had to absorb the full powers of the _Divine_ _Circuit_ without fracturing the device, and attempting to destroy the traitor before him was exceedingly difficult given the circumstance. "Your patron will learn that his schemes would never entice me as it had with my wayward sons!"

Ahriman looked at him with all the sincerity he could muster, "And yet I did not come on my patron's behest."

The Emperor's brow arched, his interest piqued in the slightest. "Explain."

"I am here on the behalf of my brothers, whom you can see..." Ahriman said as he turned to look at the rubric marines behind him, "...have suffered long enough."

"They had suffered justly for betraying me and all they had stood for." The Emperor replied.

Ahriman's head swiveled back at him and he glared murderously at the Master of Mankind, "They stood for the pursuit of knowledge- not for your selfish dreams for conquest and supposed reunification- knowledge that you denied them! How else would we quench that thirst to know what is unknown- the very root of what makes us human- if the pennon of humanity stifles that growth?!"

"An old argument where I remain fixed at my stance!" The Emperor retorted, "You, Magnus, and all the traitors of Prospero- you are all like children! Children playing with fire! You sought knowledge from the Warp, which the Council of Nikea explicitly forbid for very good reasons! Yet you ignored them, you ignored everything and everyone in your hunger for power- and inevitably destroyed yourselves!" For the first time, the Emperor sounded and acted like a father, and it surprised Ahriman for it sounded as though he spoke to his own. The Emperor struggled to raise his hands in a show of exasperation, "Look at you! You come to me as if ten millennia had never passed! You remain unchanged!"

"I _am_ changed!" Ahriman shot back, allowing buried emotions to resurface and letting them spill over his primary purpose of visiting the Imperial Palace. "Perhaps not in the way you wanted, and I will not apologize for my actions in this war!"

"Changed, this wayward son says, bah!" The Emperor scoffed, "Your tongue has held so much deceit, your ears confuse it for truth."

"This son _is_ changed, you stubborn mule!" The sorcerer growled, "We were not children playing with fire, but children attempting to understand what fire is. Had you guided us instead of focusing on your visions for war and carnage, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with."

"Then why did you turn to the vile promises of Chaos, hmm?"

"Where would we go?!" Ahriman screamed, "You sent that dog Leman Russ, knowing full well that his axe was grinded well against us that he would jump at the opportunity to strike us down! Magnus was never a traitor, he only breached the Imperial Palace to warn you of Horus' betrayal, and yet you condemned him for disrupting your damned webway project!"

"I sent Leman down there to extract an explanation from Magnus, not to execute anyone. How that misunderstanding came to be, I blame the Ruinous Powers. What you did afterwards cannot be blamed on me. After your fall from grace, your damnation is a consequence for cavorting with the same gods who caused your world to burn in the first place."

Ahriman was silent for a long time as the words sank deep into his mind and heart. Now he knew it was a blessing to be exiled from Magnus' side, who now was devoted to Tzeentch after ascending into daemonhood. How ironic it was that he used the powers of the Warp, when the Warp itself was the cause of his downfall.

The Emperor continued, "You said you came to make a deal with me, and yet here we are arguing over who's to blame for the civil war. Both sides had their faults in it, including me. If you insist on remaining fixed on that issue, you're wasting your time here."

Ahriman knew that was as close to an apology he would get from the Emperor, "Yes. Onto the matter at hand. I understand you're attempting to achieve apotheosis, I'd like to help you with that."

Only Tzeentch would have the power to know his grand scheme, it made sense that Ahriman would know it as well. "And in return?"

"I want you to restore my brothers their rightful mortality, long robbed of it due to Magnus' ambitions! Make us whole again!"

The Emperor's brow furrowed, "Now why would I even consider accepting such a offer?"

"You know as well as I that this crude machination you call the _Divine Circuit_ is greatly flawed in its design, that upon activation you've essentially doomed Terra and the Segmentum Solar entire. No hands but those of an experienced manipulator of the Warp can fix it, and you are in sorely short supply. I have the tools at my disposal to stabilize the effects of this device, but it will take considerable effort on my part to assist you. I ask now, what is that effort worth to you?"

"What is it worth to you?" The Emperor threw the question back.

"Everything." Ahriman replied, "It may sound strange to you, but I love my brothers. They are my family and I would see them freed from the shackles born of my past sins, whatever it takes."

The Emperor looked and saw the truth in Ahriman's words, but he was still and rightly skeptical of the sorcerer's offer. "Even if I agreed to do this, what's to stop you from sabotaging my apotheosis once you've attained your desires?"

"Your apotheosis is inevitable, I have foreseen this." Ahriman replied, "No amount of schemes would prevent it, but I know what Terra means to you and to the Imperium itself. It is a symbol that holds greater power than anything I've seen, and I've seen much. If it were to be destroyed, the Imperium would never recover. It might give them a bigger reason to hate the Ruinous Powers, true, but that's as far as it would go."

"And what makes you so sure I will be able to do this favor for you? What's to stop me from reducing you to dust right then if I willed it?"

"Nothing." Ahriman answered casually, his words taking the Emperor aback. "For the first time, I'm taking this one on faith alone. I will have my brothers freed from this curse. I sought the aid of one god and lost. I sought the aid of my own hands and lost. So tell me, Emperor of Mankind, am I a fool to throw my lot with you- even if it may be for the last time? Because if I were, then there is no hope for me or my brothers. Here, now, I would end my own life and all of the Thousand Sons under my command."

The Emperor sighed heavily, conflicted with the fact that this traitor was indeed changed. Perhaps in doing this, he would be able to make amends for his mistakes and save the Thousand Sons from themselves? "No. In all other ways, you are the fool, Ahriman. In this, you are not. You had but a glimpse of the higher purpose that drove me to commit those acts in the past- a love for mankind that towered above my own sons. I would do everything- anything- to give them salvation, to protect them from the horrors of this damned universe!"

"Then, do we have an accord?"

"Only if you swear to me that you will remember one thing, sorcerer of Tzeentch." The Emperor's eyes blazed with divine fire, "Bring harm to my people- the very people you betrayed all those years ago- and your curse will pale in comparison to the eternal damnation I will bring upon you all. This is my vow, for there is no depth I would sink to, no means I would not seize, if mankind is threatened. _Never_ forget that!"

"Let it be so." Ahriman said as he raised his hand and staff to cast the spell he had promised. Reality shook and heaved, even as time remained at a standstill. The Emperor felt the power coursing through the _Divine Circuit_ and through his body steady itself, he then prepared for his eventual ascension into godhood. Ahriman, on the other hand, felt himself grow weaker as he simultaneously held time in the palm of one hand and halted the chaotic tide of eldritch energies in the other. The sacrifice of such a powerful spell required his own life, a fact that he never shared with the Emperor. He strained against the powers sapping at his strength and roared, "TAKE IT ALL! BE NOT AS MAN, BUT RISE AS A GOD!"

The earth split with abyssal fissures that cracked the planet in half. The Warp opened within Terra's core and broke the world open, sundering all into floating piles of rock, twisted metal and whole cities of gilded walls and ivory towers!

Surprisingly, however, not a single life on Terra was extinguished in that unforeseen event! As Ahriman fell to his knees, nearly spent as the magicks drained his soul of all his power, the hold he had on time was loosed. The rubric marines and the Adeptus Custodes resumed their battle as if the hours mattered not! The exchange of fire ceased for a moment as both sides bore witness to the meeting between Emperor and Chaos sorcerer. They saw Ahriman kneeling before the Emperor, and the Emperor held aloft by an unseen force with evident golden cracks along his armor and face bursting with blinding flashes of light emanating from the sudden flow of energies from the _Divine Circuit_.

"The Emperor is in danger! Quickly, dispatch the sorcerer!" The Captain-General bellowed, and a hundred bolters swiveled about to kill Ahriman where he stood.

They stopped, however, when the Emperor spoke. His words were a resounding boom that seemed to reshape into something above that which stemmed from mortal lips, "You swore to m **e, Ahriman! You swore Terra would not be destroyed!"**

"Give it a moment...you impatient bastard!" Ahriman retorted weakly.

The people on Terra, looking on helplessly as they stood upon the broken off pieces of the homeworld, did not panic as all seemed to fracture around them. Instead, not knowing that their lives were held in the palm of Ahriman's hand, knelt fervently upon the ground they stood and prayed ever harder. They then heard a voice, one wracked with pain as though a thousand firebrands scorched his flesh, "RISE! RISE, EMPEROR! BE NOT AS MAN, RISE AS A GOD!"

The pieces of Terra itself rotated like the assembly of a lock, in the middle of which stood the Imperial Palace itself. The Emperor did rise, and the dark patron of decay who was now but five lightyears away from reclaiming Isha, gazed on in horror at this implication. All the plague fleets that were not destroyed in the space battle above, and all the daemon hordes and hives that swarmed across space, now turned in a desperate attempt to disrupt whatever the loyalists were planning to do.

The Warp tear in Terra's core, now directly connected to the Emperor, poured all its might at his behest towards the Astronomican. That archaic device, which acted as a lighthouse for so many generations, now acted as one massive gun trained at the head of the approaching Dark God. Nurgle looked on as the golden light pulsated and flickered in the distance. From there, he wasn't sure, but he could've sworn he saw the form of a hand raising its middle finger to his face.

Horus, and all the Luna Wolves fighting atop Nurgle's own flesh, looked up in surprise at this new turn of events. The Primarch breathed an oath and commanded his men to brace themselves, knowing there was no way out of the mess they got themselves into without subjecting themselves to the full force of the Emperor's wrath.

The light, like a captured beam of sunlight, tore through space and struck Nurgle full on the chest. The impact shook reality and the Warp itself, for even in the Empyrean the power of the Anathema coursed through the Realms of Decay. Nurgle groaned as the eldritch energies of the _Divine Circuit_ slowly ate at him, transferring all the collected psychic essences he had amassed over his very very long life as one of the Four into the Emperor's soul. Already, he could feel the presence of the Anathema grow in the Warp, so strong was his influence that it rivaled that of the combined influence of the Ruinous Powers combined! His realm, his beloved Blighted Gardens, they all went up in flames. He could see them all. The Death Beds, the Poxyards, Clawthrust Brambleyard. The Morabusium where the most precious and toxic herbs took root, the Dunglash Arboretum where refined excrement hung from trees like putrid, reeking vines, and many others. All of these regions that provided Nurgle with the ingredients and insights he needed to further his work at the cauldron when he returned to the Mansion after one of his invigorating jaunts, wiped clean off the slate.

Nurgle shed a single tear for the destruction of all he had created, but smiled contentedly at his approaching end. From death comes life, as it should be and as it ever shall be.

The Plaguebearers, Unclean Ones, Vile Savants and all that stemmed from Nurgle- they faded into ash from every corner of the galaxy no matter how far. Nurgle shushed his beloved nurglings as they wept and cried for assurance that this was not so. His body burned like a mighty comet, slowly flickering into nothing among the stars he hurtled past. The Luna Wolves, without anything to support them, spilled into empty space helplessly as the dark patron of decay slowly melted out of reality.

"YOU!"

Horus looked up in surprise as a massive winged figure took to space and throttled him across the void. The Primarch of the Luna Wolves struggled against the iron-like grip of Mortarion as he flew across the battleship graveyard, intent on slamming Horus against every burning debris he could find. Horus slammed a fist against Mortarion's face and broke his mask, exposing the hideously leprotic face beneath.

"YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" Mortarion roared as he threw Horus through the bulkhead of a sundered loyalist vessel, already he could feel his soul fading into nothing as his patron slowly died at the hands of the Emperor. "MY LEGION, MY CHANCE AT VENGEANCE! AND NOW, MY GOD!?"

"Funny, you never once claimed Nurgle as your god before." Horus mocked, "First time for everything."

This, naturally, served to infuriate Mortarion even more. Parts of himself started to drift off like dust blown in the wind. Mortarion knew he had but a few moments left before succumbing to the eternal oblivion his progenitor had subjected him into. Unlike Perturabo, he was not graced with a moment of clarity or unknowingly sought after redemption. It was just a few moments, like the prisoner upon the block awaiting the blade of the executioner.

Mortarion looked at his hands as they faded into ash, then looked up at Horus. He died then, cursing the Emperor and the Imperium for robbing him of his life long before his betrayal at the Horus Heresy. He died, consumed by the bitterness he had allowed to seep into his heart long before his ascension as Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion.

* * *

The spell did its work, as did the _Divine Circuit_. With its purpose achieved, the device broke down and fell silent.

Terra, its levitated pieces coaxed into place by the will of Ahzek Ahriman, returned to be made whole again- but at a cost. In a grim facsimile of the Sigilite's demise, Ahriman died. His body and soul, spent in the service of the Emperor for the last time, crumbled into nothing. The rubric marines at his command, now leaderless, stood motionless around the ruins of the broken warp device.

The Emperor, now noticeably more powerful than ever before due in no small part to his ascension into true godhood, looked upon all who bore witness to his actions that day. Their Emperor looked more radiant, even more majestic than he was then. Servo-skulls hovered down to capture the historic moment, and all who watched uttered a unified and thunderous cheer that shook the cities. Isha floated down to meet with her god-kin and embraced the triumphant Emperor.

"You did it, my love!" Her smile was enough to light a thousand suns. "You destroyed a great evil and achieved what no other man has done before!"

 **"Yes."** The Emperor replied, **"But now, I've sacrificed what makes me such. I've avoided this option only because-**

"Hush." Isha said as she placed her hand on his cheek, "You did what needed to be done, all doubt of your actions must be banished from mind."

The Emperor turned to gaze upon the rubricae, whom the Custodes were moving to neutralize. **"Stop."** They obeyed their master and let him through. **"Ahzek Ahriman was a traitor, but his heart was just. In another life, I would've rewarded his faith- now that he is gone- by dishonoring his memory and disregarding my promise."** The Emperor raised his hand and willed the souls of the rubricae to return to their rightful place, **"That man had died, and is now reborn."**

Ahriman's rubricae convulsed violently where they stood, hands dropping their weapons as ash reformed into bodies. The rubric marines returned to astartes, and the remade gazed about in confusion as they realized where they now stood. Their internment into the curse of their sorcerer had been innumerable millennia ago, but to them it had been but mere seconds. They now stood at the mercy of the new god- the Emperor they had betrayed!

 **"KNEEL."**

As it was with the pacification of Monarchia, when the Emperor reprimanded Lorgar Aurelian, he now forced the traitors to kneel before him in repentance. Naturally, confusion turned to ire as the hearts of the traitors remained unchanged.

They hated the Emperor as Ahriman had before, but none had the opportunity of hearing the side of the lie that had been told to them over and over again. The Emperor, now that he had fulfilled his promise, had nothing to hold him back with his dealing of the traitor astartes before him. **"You remain alive only because I've honored my promise to your brother Ahzek Ahriman. However, the fact remains that much blood still stains your hands- blood shed at the expense of my subjects in the service of Chaos. As I've spoken with him, I shall now lend an ear to your words."**

The Emperor tilted his head back and looked down his nose in disgust at the guilty party. **"Convince me why I should not kill you."**

 **}!{**


	17. The Gardens of Isha

**}!{**

Something was wrong.

They all felt it. Wrong, but beneficial...in a manner. The death of a god was not something anyone or anything could miss, and as much as anyone loathed the dark patron of decay, it still felt unnatural. To sentient beings, it felt as if the ever-present feeling of impending doom, that indescribable fear of death, was lifted. The more visible evidence came in the form of the sudden disappearance of the most debilitating, horrifying and unimaginable diseases and plagues overnight. All that was left of Nurgle's touch were scars and memories of a haunted past, eagerly forgotten. To those close to Terra, they were blessed with the divine strength and vitality of the newly risen god among men.

Nurgle's presence in the Warp was gone, snapped out of existence both in realspace and the swirling infinity of the Warp itself. How this came to be, the measures, means and paths taken to accomplish such a feat- was unthinkable, and yet happened just the same! Chaos, the ruling force in that dark future, had been challenged once again. The winding fabrics that made up the Realm of Chaos were suddenly seized by a familiar and powerful force. With the subsequent destruction of the Realm of Decay, and the apotheosis of the Anathema, the Warp was reshaped by his will. The Emperor, though he tried his best to hide it, was monstrously bloated with psychic energy, so much that he feared his mortal vessel would fracture and cause untold destruction upon Terra. And so, thinking quickly, he willed his newfound powers to project his presence into the Warp. There, he began to build.

Upon the ashes of Nurgle's sundered kingdom, the Emperor stood alone with his significant other. Isha, his wife all but in name, shared in his power. Together they created a new realm, a new dominion over the Warp where the souls of mankind- and aeldari- would find a safe haven even after death. Isha, Goddess of Life and Fertility, willed her gardens into form.

Great walls of vines, smooth and without thorns, crept across the face of rising mountains. Towering trees, both alien and familiar, rose above their lesser saplings, reaching high to scrape the skies of the Warp. A beautiful and stark contrast to the nightmarish Realm of Decay, where morose forms of destruction and plague ran amok, this new domain was an absolute paradise. Likened unto her unyielding, unbowed and hopeful nature, the realm mirrored Isha as a whole. Her beauty was seen in the blossoming sea of flowers sprouting out of the ground she walked; her kind and gentle heart in the song of the birds that suddenly flocked to the newly formed branches of the trees- spirits born out of the mere psychic presence of the two gods. Her unshakable desire to protect the helpless formed the unnamed guardians, tall and majestic beasts fashioned out of elderwood and sap that lumbered out of the woods to secure the borders of her garden in preparation for the hated foes lurking in the far corners of the Warp.

The birds sang sweet harmonious melodies that lightened the hearts of both Emperor and Everqueen, though less for the former and more for the latter.

This solution, which held untold promise and immeasurable potential, was unforeseen and the Emperor feared that his quick actions may have resulted from premature thinking. A ruler accustomed to being steps ahead of everything, the Emperor found the entire ordeal unsettling and even thought of reversing the act lest his fears be realized. He didn't like having to stoop to the level of the Chaos gods by doing this, but circumstance as always prevented him from doing as he felt was more preferable.

"What troubles you so?" Isha asked, sensing his thoughts.

 **"I am...troubled...for I am unused to decisions of this scale."** The Emperor confessed, **"I have forged kingdoms and empires before and ruled many peoples, but I am unsure of what we've done here."**

Isha sat herself down on the soft grass of the valley they walked upon. The very ground felt as welcoming as the softest cushions, one would never find discomfort here and would gladly roll around the valley without fear of scraping oneself upon sharp stones and bruises from the rough earth. The goddess resisted the temptation to lay down and faced the Emperor, "Is it because you've found yourself in a position where you now literally hold the souls of your subjects in the palm of your hand?" Isha stopped to pick a white rose from its stem, smiling to herself upon seeing the empty stem grow another bud to replace the one she took. "I know how it feels. Souls, fragile little things, fluid like water and yet great in value."

Isha took the hand of her beloved and placed the rose within it, "You and I have worked to undo the work of a god, and now that we have, we must take his place. Those souls must have somewhere to go- that is the nature of the Warp. They must come here, we must let them come here, lest they be devoured by other less benevolent gods in this realm."

The Emperor's gaze locked on to Isha's, and the Warp mirrored his thoughts and emotions into the first form of that new realm. Heavy thunderclouds raged above the valley, threatening to pour out their wrath upon the beautiful green plain. **"I am a destroyer, it's what I'm good at. That is why I am bad at everything else. Architect, progenitor...father. I will build an empire overnight, birth good and noble sons, and lose it all the next day by my own hand. For all my ambitions, for all my intents and purposes- my sword foregoes creation. Creating this, a realm within the Warp...I fear it may be turned against us."**

Isha looked at him thoughtfully and glanced down at the rose he had crushed in his gauntleted hand. She reached for the crumpled flower and willed life into the unfortunate little thing, "Perhaps that is your purpose after all. You say that you are unused to decisions of this scale..." The flower obeyed and stretched out its petals, blossoming into full length in the palm of her hand. "But I am."

"You wish to know how this must come to be?" Isha said, "I will tell you. Your hands, responsible for the destruction of the old order of things, will take up the sword against the galaxy. You will become destruction incarnate, just as Nurgle's will begets destruction. My hands, as they have done for as long as I have lived, shall give life. For even through death, life goes on, as it should be and as it ever shall be."

 **"To become a god, embracing my divinity and ruling from behind the veil...I've fled from this role for so many years now, I still feel like I should."**

"You've tipped the balance, you cannot abandon your destiny now as before." Isha declared. "Your people need a god, as much as they need their Emperor."

The Emperor looked around and saw that the clouds had disappeared, leaving only the warm yellow light of the mirrored suns in the Warp. **"And what of the Eldar? Do they still look up to their goddess as they should?"**

He was, of course, referring to her design of the Gardens as a haven for even the aeldari- whose souls were directed to their Infinity Circuits or to the ever-hungry maw of Slaanesh. "Not all. I seek no fealty from them, but my heart is always open to the Eldar."

 **"Even after all they've done, your love has not changed."** The Emperor observed, awed by the unconditional devotion displayed by Isha.

Isha smiled gently, "They are my children, I will _always_ love them...as you love yours."

The Emperor looked through the veil and saw that time had passed quickly. He could not stay for too long, lest he leave the Imperium in disarray once again. **"I must leave you now, my dear. My duty as Emperor calls me back."** At a nod, the Emperor left the Realm of Order amidst Chaos and returned to visit his son Horus, who had spent the time waiting patiently for his father to come home. And Isha, left to her own devices, continued in her work. She planted, cultivated, and basked in the serenity of her gardens. Her spirits, or better known as daemons, doubled in number as the bloodstained hordes of Khorne marched upon her gates. Her walls of thick vines and grasping roots grew sharp thorns, eager to choke and crush the uninvited within their coil. Her elderwood guardians, that walked like centaurs and brandished stone spears, harder than ceramite and sharper than master-crafted weapons, began their first days battling the endless war against Chaos.

* * *

Nearly three months had passed since the Emperor left with the Everqueen, and much had to be done while their lord was away. The battle against the Ruinous Powers had left a huge trail of destruction on Segmentum Solar. Thousands of voidship corpses littered the spaces between worlds, acting as impassable reefs that choked Imperial highways, crippling supply lines as though the plague legions played their last act of defiance. Though their victory was secured, the Imperium would never recover. Seeking to make use of these rapidly coalescing wrecks, rather than allow them to build up into dreadful space hulks, Rogal Dorn organized the Imperial Fists to salvage the wreckage for lost technologies and possible surviving loyalist crews. Though treading with great care in preparation for any contact with traitor astartes or heretics, there they found little to no confrontation from the plague legions. And what little confrontation came in the empty shells of traitor astartes armor floating motionless in the void.

Apart from salvaging what they could, Dorn demonstrated his unmatched skills as an architect and constructed many gateways from the debris field that acted as checkpoints for Imperial vessels. He then fashioned out of the wrecks many outposts to act as garrisons for their defense forces. Having done so, Dorn returned to Terra to attend the celebration of their great victory against Chaos. As Primarch he was, by all means, expected to come.

His only misgiving was that his living brothers, Corvus, Roboute and Leman, were absent at the celebration. Their tasks had taken up much of their focus, understandably so, that they cannot simply abandon their roles in the front for a party. Dorn felt he had drawn the short straw, since nothing occupied his time as his brothers, and so he had to attend in their stead.

The celebrations lasted the whole three months, where all non-essential work dismissed in favor of honoring the day that the God-Emperor had slain the Dark God Nurgle and saved the Imperium from the plague legions that had threatened them for ten thousand years. Entire cathedrals dedicated to that sole event were erected on every major population center, every artisan and remembrancer exhausted in the many picts, sculpture and impression made in honor of their divine savior. Exhausting but joyously accomplished work, for the people felt it justly done in the service of the Emperor.

Upon the Emperor's return, a new order had been given that astonished the Imperium entire. The Emperor had the Bell of Lost Souls, an archaic monument to all the fallen heroes since time immemorial, be decommissioned. His actions were further explained personally, as he revealed that there was a new realm reserved for his faithful upon death. No longer shall the people of Terra fear what might come to pass after they pass on, for the Gardens of Isha, the Everqueen of mankind, would be open to them. Heroes and faithful servants of the Imperium would be granted entry, the Emperor assured the masses.

This was, of course, a half truth. For all his divinity, the Emperor had little control for the souls of every man, woman and child. He knew that belief was the key, and by deceiving the masses into believing in him, he would have some hold over where their souls would end up.

They named that day _Dies Victoriam Vitae_ , high gothic for 'day of the victory of life'. The Emperor allowed the celebrations to continue for another month, but allowed it no more than thus. There was much work to be done, but he would let his loyal subjects have their rest for the moment.

One day, Horus approached his father with a surprising proposition.

Now that the danger had passed, he revealed that he had planned on binding himself to the Saint through the ancient rite of matrimonial union. He also revealed that Celestine was with child, and that the little one they were expecting was due very soon. The Emperor was delighted over the news and vowed to preside over the ceremony personally. This marked as the first time a Primarch married a Saint, and the Emperor planned to make it as close to perfection as possible, for such an event would be remembered for all time.

The Imperial Palace remained largely in ruins, despite the tireless efforts of the craftsmen to repair the damages wrought by the _Divine Circuit_. This didn't bother the Emperor much, however, for the sprouting woods of Isha's work made up for the ugly mess left by his project. The beautiful pink blossoms scattering in the winds of the Himalayan mount were perfect for the occasion, and so the Emperor set up the venue as planned. The worst of the rubble were cleared away to make space for the crowds that would undoubtedly attend the wedding ceremony, banners in honor of the Sisterhood and the Luna Wolves were set up along the narrow path where the center aisle would be.

The result of the Emperor's quick work turned the discouraging sight of destruction into a unique open courtyard, large enough to fit thousands of spectators and enough to allow the bridegroom entry- and above all, presentable enough for the occasion.

After the construction was finished, a call for invitation was set into motion, and millions flocked to the Imperial Palace to witness the union of two souls under the hand of the God-Emperor. The custodes, adeptus astartes stationed on Terra, the adepta sororitas, and many of the Cadian troops Horus saved in the battle against the Despoiler- all arrived and when they could not fit, stayed aboard their ships to watch from above. The event, captured by floating servo-skulls, broadcasted the vids to the rest of the Imperium that they may also witness the event unfold. The Redeemed Primarch walked through the streets alone, basking in the attention of the masses as they heaped garlands at his feet and shouted words of praise. He carried himself with humility and waved back at the crowd.

Above, escorted by her twin geminae who acted as her maids in honor, the beautiful angel hovered down on wings of unblemished white. Dressed in sparkling robes of gold and white, foregoing her blessed armor due to her swollen belly, Celestine approached the Emperor and bowed her head. She then turned to meet her soon-to-be husband and extended her hands to take his into their own.

The Emperor smiled a broad smile and raised his hands to command for quiet. At his command, the masses behaved themselves and were silent. His words rang clear like the chime of a bell, **"Sons and daughters of Man, we are gathered here today to witness two noble souls unite in holy matrimony.** **T** **oday they publicly** **declare their devotion to each other. The essence of such** **commitment is the acceptance of each other in entirety, as lover,** **companion, and friend."**

He turned to Celestine, **"Do you, Celestine, pledge to take this man as your husband, to stand by him in the best days of your lives as much as the worst? Do you pledge to honor him in all things, support him in his endeavors, and love and cherish him all your days?"**

Celestine nodded, "I do."

 **"And you, my son."** The Emperor asked Horus, **"Do you pledge to take this woman as your wife, to protect her and honor her in the best days of your lives as well as the worst? Do you pledge to honor her in all things, support her endeavors, to love and cherish her all your days?"**

Horus nodded, "Yes father, I do."

 **"Then by the powers invested in me as Emperor, I pronounce you husband and wife. What therefore I have joined together, let no man tear asunder. Go now and may your days be long and prosperous."**

Another cheer broke out, resonating like the waves of the sea, so powerful that it shook the entire courtyard. Horus held his wife's hand in a sure grip and walked with her out of the courtyard to receive the blessings of the masses. The celebrations in the past month paled in comparison to the one held in that week alone, for even the joint adepta took part in the revelry. As feasts were shared throughout the Imperial city, Horus took his bride aside that they might spend their days of celebration alone in the quiet seclusion of some forgotten tower room. There, Horus placed his ear day by day at Celestine's belly to listen to the hearts that pounded within.

"Twins, my love?"

Celestine smiled and nodded, "The medicus declared it so." She took his hands in hers and intertwined her fingers into his, "I hope they grow to become like their father."

Horus' gaze fell, but he said nothing. He didn't wish to ruin the moment with his misgivings, so he opted to share in the serenity of their wedding night, knowing that the following days would give him no peace.

 **}!{**


	18. Non Nobis Domine

**Huh, I wasn't expecting a lot of people to be so excited about the Thousand Sons ( Heretics, all of you! Prepare to be purged! ). But okay, everyone's rooting for somebody in 40k.**

 **This one took another week to upload because I wanted to make it longer. And looking back, I also realized how far we've come. There's that inexplicable satisfaction as a writer where you go on a journey along with your readers through the little world you've made in writing, and I'm deeply grateful to all of you for helping me get this far! Seriously, I never could have done it without you.**

 **Oh but don't worry, it's not the end just yet. We've got a long road ahead of us, because there's not just one Chaos god to deal with, but four. And of course, it goes without saying, the other factions in the sidelines as well.**

 **}!{**

An agonizing wave of suffering washed over all who stood within the _Tolerantiam Fidei_ , Kor Phaeron's flagship and the spearpoint of the Wordbearers battlefleet, as did all who served Chaos Undivided. From the powerful daemon princes to the lowest cultists, the crippling pain of loss brought them to their knees. Even the mightiest herald of the Ruinous Powers, Lorgar Aurelian, cried out as a piece of his ascended spirit was violently torn out of his body. It was like a burning in his bones, like poison eating away at his insides, when the devoted servant of Chaos was robbed of his god forever.

However, it was not the pain of god sundered out of the Warp that drove the devotees of Chaos mad- especially for the Wordbearers- but the emptiness left in his passing. For unlike his fellow patrons, Nurgle was beloved by his followers. The Grandfather of All had welcomed them with genuine affection, whereas Khorne broke their backs and seemed to favor the Imperium more than them, or Tzeentch twisting their minds and intentions for the sake of one of his maddening games, and Slaanesh simply did not care. He was, essentially, the only one who ever truly was a god to them.

Amidst the cacophony of shrieks, wails and roars bellowed by the tormented souls around him, Lorgar tried to make sense of this travesty. His face grew pale, the horror felt keenly as he frantically looked to his adoptive father for guidance. The look he received confirmed his fears, and with it his despair erupted into rage over the unforgivable slight wrought by the hand of the False Emperor. Nurgle was dead, and in his wake arose a new god, powerful enough to challenge the Ruinous Powers and unseat them from their thrones on high.

"Impossible..." The ascended Primarch rasped, "How could this happen?"

The vessel shuddered violently, then was brought to a screeching halt by an unseen force. The daemons of the Three were driven out as the presence of their masters and creators were brought aboard. Ever since his internment in the Templum Inficio, Lorgar had gained the audience of his patrons once every other hundred years, each time a literal mind-shattering encounter. This meeting of masters and slaves was no different, but it came as a surprise nonetheless.

A surprise, due in no small part to the unexpected reaction the Three showed before their servants.

Khorne, one the Wordbearers and the heretic legions entire had grown accustomed to being his usual frightening self and a deity never to be mistaken for anything but, was- of all things- laughing. It had become apparent to all who bore witness to the Blood God's chilling humor that the death of the dark god, his fellow and rival, was welcomed. His deafening bellows rang in their skulls as he cackled, the roar of his words hammering away at their ears until they bled bright crimson. Khorne indeed looked upon the Imperium with favor that day, though not wholeheartedly, for even against overwhelming odds as they had done against the Despoiler's failed 13th Black Crusade did they triumph. Not wholeheartedly, for Khorne found the intervention of the Thousand Sons displeasing to him. As was his nature, his excellent humor vanished as his undying rage resurfaced once more.

Tzeentch, on the other hand, was pleased with the results through and through. Many schemes were made in his name, whether the plotters knew this or otherwise, and many of those schemes bore sweet fruit upon culmination. A new god was born in the passing of another, and the Deceiver rejoiced in the one thing that held any meaning to him...change. Lorgar knew Tzeentch was never one to fear the False Emperor's war against him, only that he welcomed any new developments in the grand game he played. The Anathema fascinated him, whereas Lorgar found his father's apotheosis as the epitome of hypocrisy.

Slaanesh found the ordeal distasteful and lacking. The Dark Prince of Excess cared little for an audience with her servant, and just as quickly as she appeared, she soon vanished, earning herself the ire of both the Blood God and the Changer of Ways. Tensions among the heretic fleets re-emerged as their patrons became once again at odds with one another. Dissent, division that inevitably led to violence, erupted simultaneously over every vessel in the battlefleet. At this, Lorgar and his followers chafed and boiled, for they now watched helplessly as all their hard work crumbled into nothing within hours.

"What will you have me do, my lords?" Lorgar inquired with all the humility his black heart could offer.

 _ **"YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED TO PURPOSE, CUR!"**_ Khorne lashed out against his servant, _**"YOUR TASK IS BUT A SIMPLE DAGGER TO THE HEART OF THE EMPEROR OF THAT WASTING IMPERIUM!"**_

"I'm afraid I don't understand..."

 _ **"Allow me to enlighten you."**_ Tzeentch's voice, a chorus of lighthearted music in contrast to Khorne's thunderous peal, though nevertheless maddening in its own right, spoke to explain the proposed solution to their ongoing problem. _**"Your brother Horus Lupercal, while seemingly inconsequential to the grand scheme of things, plays a pivotal role in turning the odds in favor of the Imperium. As crudely put by your addle-brained patron, the 'heart' of the Emperor is what you must cut out. Kill Horus Lupercal and all he holds dear, and his death would break the Anathema. He will never recover from it, and soon he shall be the god of naught but ruin and ash- as he once did on your beloved world."**_

Lorgar leaned back and smiled. He admired how the fate of such a small thing as one person in the midst of a colossal war of attrition could change everything. Horus was the reason why the Imperium fell into darkness once, spurred on by none other than the Aurelian's own hand, and he would become its herald of damnation again. "A dagger to the heart of the False Emperor, and watch the stubborn Imperium breathe its last."

A scheme was made, and Tzeentch's interest was seized.

Lorgar, however, did not forget his gods. Their favor in him needed to be gained, both Khorne and Slaanesh. His work to please the gods was made easier now that there were only three to appease rather than four. It pained him to say so, but Nurgle's death was still beneficial.

And so, turning his attention to the most rebellious voidships in the battlefleet, Lorgar chose to both make an example of those who chose to stray from the cause as well as offer a sacrifice to gain the fickle attentions of his gods. With but a command to the Wordbearers battleships, every gun battery reduced the unfortunate vessels into flaming debris.

The silhouette of the Aurelian was cast in the glow of a hundred ships burning in the void, and his voice chuckled with renewed purpose. "Yes, Horus...just like the old days."

* * *

Something was about to happen that day, something new.

Eyes that glowed dimly from dancing flames alight upon torch sconces and braziers looked up in curiosity as the giants emerged into the chapel to meet with the leaders of the Dark Angels. These visitors, these sons of Fenris, were well known bitter rivals of the Dark Angels legion since time immemorial. Why they came was overshadowed by the fact that they arrived with little to no confrontation upon the chapter-house. Docking without incident was rare, especially since the Dark Angels were on high alert. Due to a very recent brush against the forces of Chaos, many of the Fallen had escaped in the confusion of the incident, including the traitor Luther.

Not one for pleasantries or decorum, Leman Russ boldly strode forward past the hundred or so Dark Angels in his path and addressed Azrael directly. The Supreme Grandmaster of the Dark Angels tightened his grip around the handle of his weapon, the Sword of Secrets, as did his coterie of bodyguards in response to the display of the Primarch of the Space Wolves. "Why have you come to The Rock, Russ?" He asked, not even bothering to welcome him properly. "For an official censure of the Dark Angels?"

"Hah!" Leman scoffed, "If I was sent here by my father to conduct a censure, you'd know it. No, I'm here to do you lot a favor!" The Primarch strutted about, announcing his intent, "I'm here to bring your beloved Primarch, my brother Jon the Kitten, back!"

The Watchers, listening in the dark corners of the room or between the legs of their masters, faded into the shadows at the mention of their charge. The Dark Angels, on the other hand, exchanged barely whispered gasps of disbelief at the prospect of their gene-sire's return. His offer overshadowed the apparent insult in his favored nickname for his rival, and it showed by how Azrael changed his tune. "You...You have proof of his existence? The Primarch has been lost to us for so long, we have no means to retrieve him since the sundering of Caliban."

"That's the easy part of my task." Leman replied with a knowing smirk, "Your liege lies here, in the bowels of The Rock itself!"

Another wave of gasps, and Azrael turned a burning gaze upon the Primarch. "Lord Russ, how do you know of this?"

"Father showed me the way." Leman Russ answered, pointing at the Watchers scurrying out of the room to prepare the way for the astartes to follow. "You have had your clues sitting right under your noses!"

"Impossible, why would the Watchers know of this and never tell us?"

Leman shrugged, "Perhaps you never bothered to ask them yourself?" He strode out after the little xenos, bellowing for the Dark Angels to follow. "Come on you louts! Don't you want your Primarch back?" He was stopped by a group of Dark Angels elite terminators, a specialized retinue tasked with safeguarding the inner sanctums long shrouded in secrecy from all outsiders. Leman, as was his nature, resented this and made his displeasure known by drawing Helwinter out of its sheath. "Move the _fekk_ out of my way, boy."

"Primarch Russ." Azrael said firmly as he walked up to the unwelcome visitor, "You are our guest here. Allow me, your host, to lead the way."

Helwinter uttered a hiss as Leman slipped the weapon back into place, "Be quick then, there's a war I want to get back to." He glared daggers at the terminators and followed the Grandmaster and his bodyguards into the bowels of The Rock. Felhanded Bjorn and Logan Grimnar stayed behind to ease the tensions between the Space Wolves and their longtime rivals. The champions of Fenris knew their ill-tempered brethren were less likely to have at the knights of Caliban while they were around to reel them in, and so they remained to keep things as they were.

The little group soon found themselves led across long and narrow halls, past empty corridors that so ancient and forgotten that even the Grandmaster had trouble recollecting about where exactly they had come. The Watchers, however, forgot nothing. They kept The Rock of Caliban well maintained throughout the centuries, even throughout millennia long before the planet became the fortress monastery it was today. They knew where they put the Lion, and they never brought anyone to disturb his long rest until now for just as Leman Russ said himself- no one asked them to.

They were brought before a large storage chamber, ancient but well preserved as though the Watchers took special care of this particular room- and rightly so. For there, in the center of the chamber, surrounded by delicate instruments of preservation and apparatus, was the Primarch himself. Encased with a pod, similar to the gestation tubes where new astartes were bred, the Lion lay as the day he was interred within.

"My lord..." Azrael breathed deeply, overcome with joy and sadness. The Dark Angels rushed forward like distraught children, crowding over the pod as they sought for a way to remove their long lost liege from his place in that cold prison.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Leman warned.

"The Primarch has waited long enough!" A Dark Angel bellowed, hands eagerly plucking at wires and tubes to release his gene-sire. "He must be restored!"

"Yes, but not like this." Azrael mused, motioning for the Angels to part to let the Watchers do their work. "Go, do what you must."

The Dark Angels contained their enthusiasm, barely, and stood by while the trusted xenos transported the pod to a work station to stabilize the still-wounded Primarch immediately after his stasis was lifted.

"You've done well for us, in spite of our history." Azrael said to Leman Russ quietly. "This is a debt we can never fully repay."

"While I do take pleasure in holding you to that..." Leman replied, "My work is far from over. After Kitten returns, assuming there won't be a problem with that process, I am tasked by my father with seeing to his restoration. A thousand years of inactivity can dull one's edge, trust me in that regard."

Azrael, naturally, did not like the thought of the Wolf instructing the Lion how to hunt. "Our Primarch will have plenty of opportunity to train- under his own sons."

"I'm not asking, Angel." Leman said as he turned about to leave, "I'm telling you."

* * *

 **"We haven't spoken in a while, my boy."** The Emperor greeted Horus one early morning as he found the Primarch strolling through the gardens, obviously immersed in deep thought. **"Is something troubling you?"**

"Father." Horus bowed his head respectfully, "The child is expected soon. But I am forbidden to be at my wife's side while the medicus examines her. It is a delicate matter, you see. It's not every day you witness a Primarch and a Saint beget a child, a being essentially a demigod in all regards."

 **"Ha! So you do believe in this godhood business."**

Horus smiled and shook his head, "Given the turn of events as of late, father, it's hard for me not to believe in your divinity."

 **"Careful, you're starting to sound like Lorgar."** The Emperor cautioned his son.

"Don't mistake my meaning, father." Horus said, "I know who you are, and I know the intentions behind all that you've done- all your decisions that led to this moment. It does not make you any less of a man by embracing your godhood, rather it further establishes your devotion to mankind entirely. It may be a means to an end, but this end concerns something bigger than yourself- and that in itself sets you apart from those that are considered gods in this dark future." Horus looked to the dawning light and chuckled, "Now that I think about it, I believe it is you who has something troubling you."

 **"Hmph, I suppose."** The Emperor needn't say anything, but he appreciated his son being able to understand him. It was one of the many things he missed while Horus was lost to him, and the despair that overtook him was excruciating.

The two walked onwards, passing the crystalline fountains overrun by bathing birds of every species and the hanging gardens below that bore every tree and flower imaginable. Father and son enjoyed the rare moments of serenity, until they were set upon by their adoring subjects.

"Holy Emperor! Bless us with your attention for a moment, we beg you!"

The Emperor smiled and approached the group of devotees. They were mostly old men and women, artisans and craftsmen responsible for the many beautiful angelic statues and lifelike sculptures of living and lost heroes across the Imperial Palace. They now came forward to deliver their magnum opus, their finest works before the Emperor to earn his favor and fulfill their greatest desire to serve their god.

"Behold!" The cloak was drawn to unveil their masterpiece.

Horus' attention was taken for a second by a servo-skull, who informed him of his wife's condition. Celestine was in labor, and the twins were on the way. The Primarch nodded once and turned to call for his father to come with him to witness this momentous occasion. "Father?" But when he attempted to get the Emperor's attention, the Primarch received none.

The Emperor, he found, stared in disbelief at the sculpture cut in his honor.

For before him stood a lifelike representation of his victory over the fallen traitor, the slain Primarch Perturabo of the Iron Warriors. His replica stood triumphant, hand on sword raised to deliver the killing blow, and the other hand grasping the throat of the traitor. The finely cut and chiseled face contorted with undying hatred, the familiar blaze of those eyes, even Horus was astounded at the precision of the artisans' work, for it was like looking upon the visage of Perturabo himself!

To the astonishment of all who bore witness, the Emperor put a hand to cover his eyes and wept.

"M-My lord? My God!" The artisans fell to their knees, begging for forgiveness for the perceived slight. "Whatever we have done to offend you, forgive us!"

Horus, seeking to salvage the scene, brought a comforting hand to his father's shoulder and guided him back to the palace. He turned once to answer the artisans and absolve them of their sin, "Do not mistake the Emperor's reaction. Your only offense is that you reminded him of one of his greatest regrets. Remember, he loved Perturabo in spite of his transgressions, and would've forgiven him as he had done with me."

"S-Shall we destroy the statue then, my liege?"

Horus shook his head, "Let it stand as a reminder to all who would challenge the Emperor's will."

* * *

Celestine's screams shook the archways and halls as she bore each wave of pain brought on by the contractions. The finest doctors and medicae-servitors were brought into the delivery chamber, a specialized room personally constructed by the Emperor to aid the Saint in her birthing of his grandchildren. But even though the availability of the finest instruments should have comforted the Saint, the only presence she ever truly cared about was Horus, that he would be there where she needed him most.

"WHERE IS HE?!" The Saint shrieked, her face drenched with sweat after fighting off the most recent contraction.

A servitor replied, "We _sent him away, for the procedure requires-_

The thing did not survive to complete its sentence, for the Saint smashed its face with a well placed backhanded fist. The corpse was thrown across the room and lay where it fell, frightening the staff beyond words as she roared in agony. "BRING ME MY HUSBAND!"

Coaxed by the Emperor to proceed, Horus entered the chamber to comfort his suffering other half and firmly grasped her hand, ignoring the blood caking her fingers after killing the servitor. He came in dressed in humble attire, for his armor had no place in that hallowed chamber. Horus looked her over and admired that even with a patient's gown and a drastically swollen belly, Celestine was still desirable in his eyes. The fire in her eyes made it even better, "I'm here, my love. Spare the staff, they're only here to help."

"Horus!" She gasped fearfully, "It's coming! I can feel the hands clawing at me!"

"Calm yourself, they are your children, not daemons." Horus said soothingly.

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Celestine roared, feeling another biting tremor in the pit of her stomach.

"I see the head, there's crowning." The doctor muttered, practiced hands poised to guide the baby out. "My lady, you must push! Aid the contractions, a little more and the babe shall slide free." The Saint's answer was a stream of curses, shrieks and breathless agonized moans.

Then, an audible sputter and an annoyed bawl.

Horus and Celestine's first child had been born!

"Here, my lord." The doctor wrapped the screaming infant in a white sheet and handed it over, "Be the first to greet your daughter into this world."

"A daughter?" Horus choked, looking down at the beautiful creature in his hands. The baby was naturally larger than a normal human babe would be, fitting neatly in his arms like a bolter. "Celestine, look! We have a daughter!"

Celestine did not answer, but merely grinded her teeth in as another babe was about to be delivered. Everyone had forgotten for a second that the Saint bore twins, and rushed to help her deliver the second child. The first labor had exhausted the Saint, but she proved tenacious as she forced herself to bring her secondborn into the world. This child, however, proved a lot more stubborn than the first and would not leave its mother's womb.

Crying out with frustration, Celestine pushed with all her might, willing the child to exit its fleshy prison. The doctor executed his job well and helped deliver the secondborn, "My lord and lady, a boy!" Once wrapped, he also announced. "This one is blessed!"

"Blessed?" Celestine said weakly, "How so?"

"See for yourselves." The doctor showed the younger twin's back. As the child kicked and struggled in his grip, two extra limbs close to his spine flapped and bent like the pinions of a newborn eagle. Telltale hairs of young feathers were evident along the shaft, and Horus was deeply touched by the little miracle.

"Hail the Emperor's grandchildren!" The staff applauded in genuine joy. The couple held their newborn children in silence as they celebrated their birth in their own way. With their tasks finished, the staff exited the chamber to allow the Primarch and Saint to christen their offspring.

Horus looked upon his daughter, a billion names came into mind. She was the first into the breach, a fearless leader in the making. His lips twitched into a smirk as he recalled the similarity of that nature, and a name etched itself into his mind. "Aggregia."

"A noble name." Celestine agreed, hugging her son tenderly close to her breast. "And what about you, my beautiful little angel? What shall we call you?"

It had to be a coincidence.

Horus gazed longingly at the unnamed child, and saw a redeeming moment thrust before him. He looked up at the open door and exchanged glances with the Emperor, who gazed back in pride at his own son.

"Sanguinius." He declared, "We shall name him Sanguinius."

 **}!{**

 **[ Hears Blood Angel fangirls screeching in the background ]**


	19. The Unsung Task

**}!{**

Maccrage.

In a few short weeks, what took thousands of years to create, the seat of Imperium Secundus and the jeweled heart of the Ultramarines Chapter, fell to the ravenous jaws of the Great Devourer. The earth heaved and buckled, unleashing its diseased blood into the atmosphere as its shell finally cracked. Black, moist and blighted fluids spurted fountains out of the mountain ranges of the Fortress Hera, and the very seas boiled and evaporated as the skies turned lifeless with the core breathing its last. Morale, understandably, plummeted, as did all hope of saving the sub-sector from the tyranid hivefleets. Even as their ships trained their massive guns upon the living void-vessels swimming across the debris field, the Ultramarines and their successor chapters let out a chorus of mournful cries, aggrieved yells and bloodthirsty howls calling for vengeance.

They, at last, felt what their kinsmen had felt when their worlds were consumed by the forces of the Warp or by xeno hands.

Yvraine, Mistress of the Ynnari eldar and Prophetess of the God of the Dead, stood quietly aside as she witnessed the Ultramarines brave the storm. A storm not of the battles fought outside, but rather, inside the mind. The galaxy, as she came to know long ago, was dark and full of terrors. Even the mightiest of champions was no stranger, and would be no stranger, to loss and adversity. Whether or not they would admit it, Yvraine understood that the Ultramarines had looked to her for hope when she came to this system. They hoped to be spared of this loss.

Now that their hopes had been dashed, only time would tell if the humans would stay true as allies or break away entirely. Yvraine came to fulfill a bargain with the Primarch Horus Lupercal, she came to destroy the hivefleets and spare the systems of Man further destruction. She would do as she said she would, but no further. If the Ultramarines decided to turn against her before her task was complete, she would be fine with it, preferring not to be burdened with needless alliances that she might be left to her own devices.

"Did you feel it too?" The Visarch whispered.

"Hm?" Yvraine grunted, oblivious to his presence as she was deep in thought. "Ah yes, I have."

"This works well for our cause. The psychic backlash of the death of a god would speed Ynnead's awakening further." The Visarch spoke their shared thoughts, "Even with the setback caused by your unwillingness to steal the final Cronesword from Horus Lupercal, we gain momentum. This is truly an omen, revealed in our favor should we seize it."

"I would remind you that there would be no benefit with an underhanded move such as the theft of the Primarch's weapon." Yvraine replied, "We will have the spear in due time. Should you not question my decisions in the following days, you will see for yourself the wisdom in them. Our god shall rise, the aeldari people shall no longer fear She-Who-Thirsts, and we shall keep our allies where they should be- at arms length and mutually beneficial. Make no mistake, if you do anything to upset the schemes I weave, you will feel the full measure of the wrath I dispense to my enemies."

"Oh spare me your indignation." The Visarch waved off the Prophetess' threats, "You walk the fine line between wise and foolish. You've proven to be relatively harmless to the cause in the little mistakes you do. I shall look disapprovingly upon your flailings, but no more. You are...valuable to us. That much I have not forgotten."

The Prophetess' words dripped with venom. "I'm touched by your faith."

In the distance, once shrouded by the debris of burning Imperial voidvessels and sundered hive behemoth bio-ships, a massive flotilla of sleek, unidentified war vessels exited an unknown form of trans-dimensional warp travel. The thin fabric of reality split itself into three massive tears, and out of these rifts spilled dozens of dreadnought-class warships easily the size of an Imperial _Dominus-class_ battleship, a form unseen since the days of the Great Crusade and just one class above the infamous _Gloriana_.

As though a great hand wielded a scalpel and cut fine and slim shapes out of meteors, the warships were easily mistaken for the Tau. But the Ynnari, a people who have traversed the stars here and beyond, knew from the many races they have encountered that this was not so. Noting the sleek texture, the mechanical frills that stuck out of the port and starboard sides like those of a fish's gills, the hovering orbits that spun like the rings of a planet, this was not the Tau. The Tau favored shooting their enemies from an entire system away and would never meet them in open battle.

"The Quietude." Yvraine chanced upon the designation. "I wonder what brought them out of hiding."

The flagship, noticeably smaller than its escorts, began priming its primary weapon. The bow of the vessel split in two and slid aside, revealing the gaping maw of a particle cannon. The tyranids, noticing the arrival of the newcomers, bathed the flotilla in a wave of bio-plasmic discharge. The cannon heaved an inaudible sigh and let loose its payload in a mute flash of blue and green, unleashing a single beam of light that picked up speed as it tore through reality. The beam connected with but one bio-ship, then detonated, tearing it from the inside out as the chaotic energies fought to escape the cocoon of reinforced chitin and bone. The resulting fallout spread into the rest of the fleet, and the shockwave split apart the escort devourers that stood so close to the flagship and disabled the ones that were further away.

The Ultramarines, unsure whether or not the flotilla worked for their cause, decided to capitalize on the unexpected turn of events and hammered hard against the reeling hivefleet. They put their conclusions on hold, but trained a careful eye upon the flotilla should their weapons be used on them. Their target at the moment was the tyranid infestation and Calgar decided to deal with the newcomers later.

* * *

"WAAAAAAGGGHHH!"

The greenskin horde bristled and scrambled past the trenches upon hearing the rallying cry of their boss. Having been given a full minute reprieve from the last fight, they relished the opportunity for a good krumpin'. And this one was a better fight in their eyes, for ever since their big blue rust-buckets hovered in Armageddon's skies, the blueboyz of the Ultramuhreenz were about the only thing the Goffs faced as of late. The boyz loved it, that was no secret, for they faced both brutal cunning and cunning brutality in each encounter with the sons of Guilliman. Eager to test their newfound pieced-together tools of destruction, the battlefields were saturated heavily with blastier with mega-rokkits and ork boltguns possessing more dakka than the most fanatical dakka enthusiast.

The speed in which the Goffs closed the distance offered the Ultramarines upon Armageddon little choice but to engage in the melee. Roaring chainswords and thundering power-mauls would forego the brutal hammer of the average bolter, offering a bloody feast enough to satisfy even Khorne's nigh insatiable appetite. However, the Ultramarines were never the ones to stick to one particular tactic, and when the fighting grew too desperate they would employ the strategic precision of landspeeder Tempest strafing runs.

"Boss!" An ork boy said to his boss in the middle of the fight, "We'z got a problem!"

Gutrak Dethhead, a brutish Goff with a huge bionik klaw and a serrated steel-like skull mask spattered in the dried blood of his most recently defeated foes, was an imposing figure among Ghazgkhull's retinue of warbosses. When he fought for the Great Tyrant of Jagga, Gutrak gained a brutal reputation as one of the Tyrant's best fighters. However, Gutrak's destiny was to change when his tribe landed on the carrion world of Eclipos. The planet's only settlement was an Adeptus Mechanicus research outpost at its northern polar ice cap. Gutrak and his boyz struck the outpost like a hammer blow from the sky, their rust ships and Roks raining down as the occupants frantically assumed defensive positions. The handful of Tech-priests and Gun Servitors were no match for the Goffs, the Orks hacking and blasting them apart before searching the underground Mechanicus complex for more heads to cave in. It was Gutrak that found the massive door, as high as a Gargant and twice as wide. It looked like the Servitors had been trying to seal it up, which only made Gutrak more interested in what might be on the other side. When he heaved it open, the cave beyond gave a great mechanical groan, and thousands upon thousands of pairs of eyes blinked into flickering eerie life. The Goffs could not believe their luck as row upon row of metal men began to march forward to destroy them. Needing no order to attack, the boyz charged into the cavern, hacking and smashing them apart, until Gutrak personally broke their leader in half and ripped off his metal face to wear as a mask, taking the name Dethhead in honour of his new trophy.

No one knew if it was through some influence of his new alien trophy which lit the fires of ambition within Gutrak, but he left the Jagga WAAAGH! after that battle, taking his boyz with him.

"Spit it out then!" Gutrak roared, having little patience with the messenger after interrupting his moments of senseless battle.

"Da boss of dem humies, ya wanted der 'eads right? Well, deyz got a lot o dakka than us so we'z gettin' chewed up 'fore we even get close."

Gutrak promptly knocked his underling unconscious with one full swing of his klawed fist up the chin, "Argh! Do I have ta fink everything for myself? Ya know wut? Dat's right, I'm the only wun who getz ta think around 'ere." The warboss cleared his throat, "Ahem, get some more boyz! More sluggaz! You'z wanna get to da humies 'eads, ya gots to get to da humies first!"

"WAAAAAAGGGHHH!"

Following their boss' command, the sluggaboyz and all the fastest stormboyz were sent in the general direction of the Imperial command squad's position. Protected by scores of guardsman shocktroopers armed with turbo-lasguns and heavy-bolters, the entire horde of choppa-wielding fiends was subsequently wiped out.

"Um, boss?" The timid ork approached his master again. "Deyz too shootier than us."

"I'z can see zat, you git!" Gutrak slapped him aside, "Get some more boyz and put 'em in a trukk! More shootier, he seyz...PUT A DAKKIER GUN ON DEM TRUKKS AND GET BACK IN DA FIGHT!"

"WAAAAAAGGGHHH!" The roar of the second horde, bolstered by the strength of formidable Goff war buggies and trucks, was soon drowned out by the bellow of powerful engines. The trukks did their work well, to a certain point, as they soaked up the Imperials' defensive fire. What happened next was an unintentional comical blunder that involved a few excited ork boyz detonating a couple of faulty mega-stikkbombs prematurely and sent the entire convoy perishing in a gigantic ball of fire.

Bruised and bleeding, the ork messenger slowly made his way back after the apparent failure of his fellows to report. Tapping the warboss on the shoulder, the ork boy braced himself for the next hit he would undoubtedly receive and quickly gave his report.

At first, Gutrak remained eerily silent as he thought long and hard on his next strategy. So long was his moment of clarity that the ork boy lowered his guard and looked up to his boss, only to have his teef knocked out as Gutrak stretched out his hand excitedly as he gained the inspiration he was looking for. "PAINT 'EM ALL RED! RED GOES FASTA!"

A few minutes later, per his orders, the Goff convoy blazed through the battlefield like a wildfire, sped onwards by the sole might of ork belief. The trukks crashed into the enclosure, and soon the Orks were happily chopping away at the Imperial commanders and gained a foothold. Gutrak grinned proudly at his ingenuity and showed his work to the massive figure standing behind him.

"Impressed yet, boss?" He asked.

Ghazgkhull looked across the field and noted to his disappointment that the red-eyed humie he considered his greatest rival was not present. He looked bored and stomped away with his Goff bodyguards in tow, "Keep at it, Defhead. Gonna go kill me sum blueboyz."

* * *

Horus watched from the foot of the archway as Celestine played with their children. Customarily seen in his armor, the Primarch of the Luna Wolves was a strange sight without his wargear. A newly sewn but humble set of robes was wrapped around his body, obscuring the impressive form of a demigod radiating with power. His father, the Emperor, approached him for the final time before he set out with the gathered collection of war vessels of the Terran battlefleets. After the events of the war of the Plague God, the Emperor had mostly busied himself with overseeing the long and grueling work of re-ascertaining the loyalties of the captured Thousand Sons traitor marines. Unwilling to destroy them out of a begrudging respect for Ahzek Ahriman's sacrifice, the Emperor kept them alive and resorted to convincing them of the error of their ways- to no avail.

Alas, he had yet to convince a single one of their misguided path.

 **"The children are growing quickly."** The Emperor mused, **"It is truly a blessing for you, as their father, to witness such a thing..."**

Horus nodded, "I'm sorry you were robbed of that chance when you lost us."

 **"Yes."** The Emperor said, the sadness in his voice coming and drifting off like the susurrus of the wind. He watched as his grandson, the little angel Sanguinius, basked in the attention of the young ladies of the Sisters Militant. Many of the neophytes graced the halls of the palace as of late, most of the reasons involving a chance to touch or hold the children of the Saint. The Emperor could not blame them, for the children inherited the best traits of his line and were absolutely adorable. **"But I will not rob you of yours."**

Horus faced the Emperor and inquired of his meaning, "Father?"

 **"I want you to raise the children, Horus, and raise them right. Instead of spending the years waging this war in the front, I want you to be there for them. Before you protest, I would like to remind you that it is only temporary. Give them a full century, then you can resume your duties as Primarch and Warmaster of the Luna Wolves."** The Emperor wasted no time getting to the point, **"Give them something I was never able to give you and your brothers."**

"But what of my other sons? Would you have others stand in my stead?"

 **"I'll command them myself."** The Emperor assured him, **"Don't you worry about a thing. The war isn't going anywhere."**

"I..." Horus chuckled in spite of his misgivings, "I have no experience in raising children." Having been raised in an ultra-violent hive world tended to dull one's paternal instincts.

 **"You'll learn, and probably for the best so you'd pick up a few things to use for the legion."** The Emperor replied, **"Now, no more protests, my boy. I have given my command."**

Resigned to this new task, Horus asked for his father's advice. "Any ideas on where to begin?"

The Emperor considered his son's inquiry and thought for a moment, **"I'd start with a change of scenery. Terra is hardly a good world to raise a children properly. Find a garden world with a forgotten Imperial outpost somewhere, preferably far from the worst of the wars and relatively untouched by them. Find their strengths and nurture them, bring them up as you see fit- but I'd discourage you raising them up to become fanatical zealots...I don't need more Lorgar Aurelians than we already have."**

"Noted. I will not fail you, father."

 **"No, Horus."** The Emperor pointed at the lovely young girl and boy roaming the halls with their mother. **"Don't fail _them_."**

The Primarch left his father's side and approached his family. At the sight of his father, Sanguinius bore himself upon his young wings and flew to Horus' arms. His attempt was largely unsuccessful as the wings could not hold his weight at that age, and he awkwardly bobbed down and up in the air until Horus caught him and brought him close. Horus smiled affectionately and rubbed his son's hair, marveling at the mess of obsidian black hair that grew out of his crown.

Little Aggregia, not one to be left at the sidelines, grabbed at her father's leg and jumped up and down, begging for him to lift her up as well. The older twin had not been blessed with the wings of her mother, but her boundless energy and a very apparent psychic potential more than made up for her perceived lack of blessings.

The children had yet to learn how to speak properly, and conversed with their father in unintelligible gibberish. Nevertheless, Horus spoke to them as he would with anyone. "Now children, we're going away on a big ship. Father's taking you to your new home."

 **}!{**


	20. Purposes Realigned

**}!{**

Y'ttetia was a little known paradise world located in Segmentum Pacificus, characterized as such by its outstanding natural beauty. Its natural conditions were considered perfect for human habitation, which made it a promising target for settlement. Over the years it garnered little, if any, industry and low populations. Instead of populating or industrializing these rare planets, some paradise worlds were customarily retained in their natural state and used as recreational bases for important Imperial servants.

On these planets, warriors may train their bodies and minds for war, studying arcane battle-philosophy and practicing martial arts. Y'ttetia was chosen over all others by Horus as the home in which he would raise his children for three reasons; it was far from most known conflicts, far from the Sabbat worlds where the Ecclesiarchy choked the populace with their tithes and redundant oft meaningless rituals, and the small population guaranteed a quiet and peaceful start in nurturing the young ones. This was a temporary setting, however, for the Primarch knew that nowhere was safe for too long. He would take advantage of the brief respite, something the Emperor termed as 'a vacation'.

His choice sparked a heated argument with his wife, who adamantly maintained that their children must grow up in a community that revered the Emperor above all. Celestine, having been raised herself from birth to adore the Emperor, believed that the only pure and true method of child-rearing was through the teachings of the Ecclesiarchy, teachings that her husband silently viewed as dogmatic and grossly outdated. Horus simply countered this by stating that such faith was too bright a light to lead Sanguinius and Aggregia's young minds, and would undoubtedly leave them blind and as overzealous as their mother. This too would disconnect them from the common people, something that Horus had seen time and time again among his brothers and many Imperial officials. Blindness and disdain for those of common birth were among the things he hated about ascended beings. Their thoughtlessness towards the downtrodden citizens of the Imperium was the root of treachery, leading into the path of damnation that had claimed half his brothers.

When she would not back down, Horus nevertheless stood firm to his ideals, further reinforced by the order of his own father the Emperor. Unable to argue the word of her god, Celestine acquiesced to her husband's decision and went with him without another fight.

In the _Divine Fury's_ hangar, Horus stood at the boarding ramp with his wife at his side, awaiting the servitors as they moved their things into the transporter. The children, tired after a long day of playing at their parents' feet, lay fast asleep in their father's arms. As the last bit of baggage was loaded in, a squad of Custodes marched into the hangar to act as Horus' personal retinue of bodyguards. The Emperor, unwilling to let his grandchildren go without a proper gift, lent his finest to ensure that they would be well protected in the years to come. Horus, naturally, initially objected to this.

"Lord Lupercal." The commander, a towering Custodes that stood at level with Horus, greeted the Primarch. His armor was polished to a bright sheen, easily mistaken as brand new. This, however, was false. Arther, an exceptional warrior in his own right and a masterful veteran of a hundred battles, never received a single blow on his person and thus never had to maintain his suit as much as his brothers. "I am Arther. I and my fellow Custodes have been tasked personally by the Emperor himself to guard you and your family."

"I don't believe that would be necessary." Horus said, at first finding the idea problematic.

"On the contrary." Arther replied, "I and the Emperor do believe it is necessary. In their youth, the children are at their most vulnerable. You've made many enemies as of late, it is foolishness to think that no one would attempt to harm them. Hence, we are here to assist."

Horus and Celestine exchanged looks, musing on the idea without uttering a single word between them. After a moment of silence, the Primarch acquiesced. Before doing so, however, Horus decided to realign the Custodes' priorities according to his will. "You will attach yourself to us on the condition that I hold command of you and your squad."

"My lord, you do me and my brothers a great injustice by your distrust." Arther said. "Our loyalty is to the Emperor alone, none other. Your conditions are null, we attach ourselves to you under his orders. You will not deter us from our intended task."

"Which brings me to my point, Commander." Horus said with a frown, "While I do not wish to have my children be brought in harm's way, I do not wish for you to make things difficult for us in the future either. I do not doubt your abilities as Custodes, I merely wish to ensure that your priority of safeguarding your charge is held with the utmost regard. In other words, you and I have differing opinions of protection. Adhere to my commands, and such problems would never have to come."

"Problems? Such as?"

"Need I elaborate, Commander?" Horus knew the warrior-guardians of Terra better than most. Children were fragile little things, if he had his way he would never let them get within a hundred paces of Aggregia or Sanguinius. Alas, his father made his decision. The Custodes were better suited to guarding steel fortresses and armoured vaults, never ones possessing the finesse required in handling children. Raising his children required an artist's touch, something even Horus did not possess, much less the Custodes.

Others might see this attitude as reckless, but Horus simply took his new role as a parent very seriously. His children, after all, deserved the gift of a better and fulfilled childhood that he and most people never got.

"Very well, then." Arther sighed, saluting the Primarch along with his retinue of six Custodes. "We pledge ourselves to your word. I and my brothers are under your command from now until the end of days. What would be your orders now, my lord?"

"First I need you to find a good supply of alternative suits to wear." Horus said.

"My lord?" Arther inquired, "I am unsure of what you mean."

"I and my wife intend to raise our children in a humble environment. You may bring your armor and armaments, but where we're going it's best that you blend in."

* * *

In the spacious chamber she shared with her father, all was deathly quiet. Senua could no longer weep soundly, her grief had achieved the stage in which her eyes could spare no tears and her own throat choked at each sob. Instead, the maelstrom brewing within her raged. The aeldari people, so sensitive to all matters of the Warp, could feel the entire ship buckle and lurch dangerously within the Webway from her rage. Most untrained psykers would easily go mad at the mere second they tapped into the Empyrean, but not her. That storm of emotions roiling beyond the thin veil of reality was under her control, and it mirrored the inferno that burned in her heart.

Liivi stood in the far corner of the room, gazing out into the tinted window unseeing as he tried his best to come to terms with the death of his wife. He remained largely unsuccessful, his head sent spinning as the reality of what they endured hit him again and again. He mourned her passing, but took some comfort in knowing that her soul was not lost. In a way, she still lived. The stone that hummed faintly in his hand proved as such.

The doors slid open, and Liivi's ear caught the distinct clack of a woman's heel against the floor as someone entered their room. A voice, as youthful as one would be in her prime yet heavy with the testament of innumerable years of experience, spoke to the Vindicare. "You are the human named Liivi, husband to the late Farseer Taldeer?"

Liivi sighed without looking to address the speaker properly, "I am."

"I am Farseer Tamila of the Council." Liivi at last turned to give his full attention to the visitor, having some semblance of an idea why she had come. Tamila was noticeably shorter than most aeldari, standing at the average human's height of six feet. Though short of stature, even those of less sensitivity to the matters of the Warp like Liivi, the marksman could feel the Farseer's power by her presence alone.

Bared by the lack of the Seer's helm, her once beautiful face was marred by a nasty scar across the cheek, a wound taken from her encounter with none other than the Khornate Champion Karn the Betrayer. The experience changed her even more than her injuries could possibly have. Tamila walked away from the healer's ward, a brooding and extremely temperamental woman. Her struggle to contain the inexplicable rage in her heart was seen as a unique strength, among other things, and earned her a place in the Council.

Trusted to deal with the unprecedented matter of the half-breed aboard their vessel, Tamila came and wasted no time in getting to work.

The Farseer cast her gaze upon the girl in the back corner, who sat upon her bed hugging her knees up to her chest as she rocked back and forth. "Is that her, the one responsible for banishing the daemon prince?"

Liivi frowned, at last knowing where this was heading. "Now is not the time, Farseer. Let us mourn in peace."

"There is no time at all, Liivi. Not for you or anyone." Tamila reminded in reply as she approached his daughter. She was stopped when the Vindicare silently raised his sidearm to her head in one deft flick of the wrist.

"I will not repeat myself." Liivi hissed, "Get out of our room, or I will kill you."

She could throttle him across the room with but a thought. Tamila would, if she were the woman she was before, but today she possessed a level head. She would not lose it either way, and she needed the girl to cooperate, starting with her father. The Farseer stared him down past the gun barrel pressing against her temple and coolly replied, "You hold us responsible for the death of your wife. I understand how you feel."

Liivi was noticeably taken aback, but his hand did not tremble. His voice was laced with sarcasm, "Do you? Really?"

"I was the minority who worked to help give your wife support in the Council when she warned them of the invasion, to turn the minds of the stubborn that they might see reason. Taldeer and I saw the danger coming for the Craftworld." Tamila explained, "And it was I who helped get you and your family to Calmainoc. While I do not expect you to treat these acts as incentives to spare my life, I do expect you to see them as proof of my intentions."

"What intentions?"

"To save the future of my people. And yours." The Farseer revealed, "Yes, the Council intends to use your daughter as a weapon. Why wouldn't they? After all, it's not everyday you see a young psyker banish a daemon prince in single combat to the Warp."

"And you won't?" The gun lowered by a hand's breadth, "I find it difficult to believe you will not capitalize on my daughter's abilities as the Council."

"A weapon is only as good as the one who wields it. While I do find the prospect of using your daughter as such to be excruciatingly tempting, I do not wish to let her enormous potential go to waste. Someone would come eventually, promising to help her claim her destiny. But who would you rather do that? What would you prefer your daughter to become? The hand, or the weapon? Under my supervision, she would become more than both."

Liivi allowed his lip to twitch for a second, finding the Farseer's brutal honesty or calculated manipulation brilliant beyond words. His fatherly instincts told him not to trust the woman, but his mind offered Taldeer's memory, her last will to be served up to him so he may never forget. Senua must grow, he cannot shelter her from the world around.

Nevertheless, he would remain watchful. Taldeer's people, after all, were not exactly the trustworthy sort.

"Go."

It needn't be said that the Vindicare would strike her down should she betray his trust in any way. Tamila knew this, and feared nothing. Her mission was not one of malice, and was above all beneficial for the young one she would soon train. Calmly, she approached the grieving child and sat down on the bed beside her.

The Farseer looked on in silence, allowing her presence to speak for her to gain the girl's attention. Slowly, Senua lifted her gaze to meet the stranger's own before her. Bloodshot and tearstained eyes met cold and unfeeling alien orbs that glowed with the powers of the Empyrean. Senua blinked, then rubbed at her sore eyes. Her young mind reached out to touch the stranger's own, an act she could not control given that her experience was greatly limited due to her only interactions were between her parents and herself. The powerful mind of the Farseer barred her from entry, and Senua visibly recoiled as though she hit a brick wall.

"That was rude, little one." Tamila remarked disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry." The girl's voice, so timid that it sounded like a whisper, spoke up. "I cannot control it. This never happened before."

"Then talk to me, the distraction should aid your lack of discipline."

Senua pouted and withdrew, "I don't want to. I don't know you."

"That is true." Tamila said as the girl looked away, "And yet your mother knew me, and I knew her. Taldeer, everyone knew her as one of the most powerful psykers among her kin and beyond. Yes, this is common knowledge. But would you like to know something else about her?" When Senua did not answer, Tamila continued. "Your mother was a Farseer. A Farseer is an Eldar who has become lost forever on the Path of the Seer. And like all Eldar lost on their Path, this power comes at the cost of being utterly consumed by that role, for they will never again be able to do or become anything else, a terrible tragedy for beings with lifespans as long as those of our kind, really."

Senua gave her a sidewards glance but still said nothing.

"Taldeer was the first to break that popular belief. Do you know how?"

"She met my father."

"Yes." Tamila nodded, "She did. That, and she brought you into this world."

"I don't understand where you're going with this."

"We're almost there." The Farseer replied, "I supported your mother for many years because I believed in what she represented. Many of us did. Her death was keenly felt by all of us, and yet even in that tragedy she gifted us with you. You are the herald of the future, girl, of a great change that must come to the Eldar."

"She was a hero."

"She was to all of us." Tamila acknowledged, "You may not trust me today, but I can be patient." The Farseer rose up to leave, "I do hope to see you again. It's...refreshing to talk to someone for once like this."

As she walked away, the girl sighed out her name. "My name is Senua."

The Farseer stopped, rejoicing at her progress inwardly. She rewarded the girl with an approving smile, "I am Tamila, and I shall be your teacher should you wish it." The door hissed audibly as it closed after her, then the silence resumed as father and daughter grieved their departed loved one on their own terms.

* * *

"Do you sense it too?"

"Hm?" Lorgar grunted, his attention drawn to his adoptive father who stood at the window, gazing out into the blazing skies of the Warp. "Apologies, I was communing with the gods. What was that you said?"

Kor Phaeron ignored the urge to lash out at his son and closed his eyes, reaching out into the currents of the Empyrean to feel that particular sensation pouring through the thin veil of reality. "I feel them through space and time. You've become an uncle, Lorgar! Congratulations!" The ancient one laughed heartily, elated at the discovery of another potent tool to use against the Lupercal.

"You speak as though you plan to kill them."

"And why not?" Kor Phaeron snarled, "Don't tell me you're getting soft, Herald."

"You tread on thin ice." Lorgar warned, "Careful now. In your old age, you tend to mistake things quite easily. I do not wish to kill the children. What monster would I be to do such a thing?"

"Ha! Is this a jest? The gods were rather clear in their instruction-

"They instructed clearly enough for me." Lorgar interrupted firmly, "We kill Horus. Spare the children. Do you not see why I want them alive?"

Kor Phaeron fell silent as he mused on his son's plan, "Ah...I see it now."

"Finally." Lorgar sighed, "Why would I waste such precious souls by sending them to oblivion, when we could show them the truth? Horus will die, as will his bitch. But the children...no. Bring them to the fold, where they belong."

"Shall I be on my way then?"

Satisfied that his purpose was realigned, Lorgar gave his consent. "Go, Keeper of the Faith. May the gods grant you strength."

Eager to enact a thousand years of pain upon the hapless little family, Kor Phaeron summoned his retinue of faithful champions and devotees before departing on a separate fleet to assault whatever world Horus landed on, leaving Lorgar to his own quest to lay the Emperor low.

 **}!{**


	21. The Icarus Part One

**A/N**

 **I am back! Apologies for the delay in this update ( yes I am painfully aware that's an understatement ). Apparently, writer's block is really hard to beat. Also, I had to brush up on some new lore and adjusted my plot accordingly so that the quality doesn't strike as sub optimal.**

 **Another thing, a lot of people have been messaging me about setting the spotlight on some other Primarchs. To them I say wait no longer, here's a treat for you :)**

 **}!{**

There is a great hunger that lurks in the hearts of all living things. A craving for conflict, a capacity for violence. This is the fire of life, the base upon which all things great and small are built upon.

War.

It is the universe's oldest language, and the most brutally direct. After thousands of years of speaking the same tale over and over, the ancient tongue rolled out a new chapter, unveiling a legend both feared and loathed by all who knew his name. Reformed after his humiliating defeat at the hands of the Grey Knights of the First Armageddon War, the Red Angel and Scourge of the Stars raised his challenging hand against the Imperium. Burning with renewed vigor, after feeding off of the trace essences of the dead god Nurgle, Khorne lent his strength to all that fell under his dominion and likewise strengthened the already unimaginably powerful Angron.

First, the chosen one marched his legion out of the daemon world dedicated solely for the Worldeaters, and with them he claimed a vast amount of territory in the Warp from the newly risen goddess. The Emperor's Bitch, as Khorne so fondly put, had also grown in strength. Souls of the dead no longer flowed freely unto the roiling seas of the Three's domain. For those who served life and benevolence, Isha staked claim and wrestled control of the streams of souls away from Khorne's hands.

This did not sit well with either of the remaining three chaos gods, for like a greedy beast denied its meal they resented the great change in their routine. Tzeentch, understandably, secretly welcomed this new development and was amused at how uncomfortable his fellows had become over the matter. Yet, seeking to rid himself of a great threat without soiling his hands, the Lord of Schemes spurred both of his fellow gods to hammer at Isha's gates while in the background orchestrating a thousand more schemes and plots to weave the future into his favor as he had done so many times before.

War raged ever stronger, and Khorne was only happier to oblige.

On Terra, The God-Emperor of Mankind, taking full charge of his innumerable legions of faithful soldiers, mustered his forces together and revealed his grand plan to his eager servants.

After the conclusion of the horrid battle against the Plague God and his legions, and his apotheosis into true godhood, the Emperor miraculously stabilized the Empyrean enough to halt the warp-storms plaguing the sub-sector and its outlaying territories. His plans to fix the failed Imperial Webway Project bore fruit, although never exactly on par with his expectations.

No longer would the void-vessels of the Imperium require the light of the Astronomican to guide them through the darkness of the Empyrean, as a lighthouse would guide wayward vessels through the dark and stormy sea. Rather, the Emperor secured a safer means of transportation made available by the power of the Everqueen in the Eternal Gardens of Isha and by his own. This meant, however, that the Imperial Webway was still anchored within the Warp itself not separate. Stable, as such a term was relative, was not something he preferred to use when revealing his finished work. The original plan was to create the Webway to starve the Chaos Gods into oblivion, and since such a plan could never be met the whole way, the Emperor would have to make do.

Like calm waters in a usually roiling sea, linked directly to the Emperor himself, the Webway would literally change the tide of war. Setting his finest workers to build revolutionary gates that would serve as the cornerstones of his Imperial Highway, named the Thronegates, the Emperor made sure there would be no flaw nor defect in that long-awaited and overdue gift to mankind. And with the last gate put in place, the Emperor moved to the next step of his great plan.

Another Great Crusade, another grand endeavor not only to liberate the lost worlds from the hands of the xenos but to take the fight to Chaos itself.

* * *

The Emperor's flagship was abuzz with new life. Hundreds of commanders, generals and warriors of note, stood together in crowds within the massive chambers outside the Emperor's war-council, just waiting for his command to begin the journey outwards and into the void.

The familiar sight of the Rock itself, the last remaining piece of Caliban, emerged from the Warp with the hundred or so vessels bearing the howling hordes of the Space Wolves. The journey to Terra alone was unbearable for the rivaling legions, even though their distance from one another was painstakingly kept. The tensions were lifted by a singular goal shared by both, and that was to stand before the Emperor proud to accomplish the intended task.

Awakened after his long internment into stasis, and restored by the combined efforts of the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves, a Primarch walked alongside his brother through the sea of bodies that parted before him, ignoring the disbelieving stares of all that laid eyes upon him. At first, to them he was a ghost, an unknown. His innate psychic presence, though faint to the weak-minded, blared like the herald's horn. Whispers and jubilant cries stirred the throng.

A name rolled from tongue to tongue, and caused all other words to cease. "Lion El'Johnson!"

"I see they haven't forgotten you, either." Leman Russ said with a mocking grin.

The Primarch of the Dark Angels remained silent, as he had since his emergence from the stasis tube Leman found him in. So still and unresponsive was Lion that at first his brother thought his long sleep had rendered him dull, and so resorted to the old-fashioned test of slapping him around. Lion, of course, throttled him across the room but still said not a word. It was not the trauma of his internment that robbed the Primarch of his voice, but rather, the realization of how far the Imperium had fallen in his absence.

Caliban was gone, reduced to a mere rock with a fortress built around it. His legion was also gone, courtesy of his brother Guilliman. His closest friends and advisers were lost or killed at the hands of Chaos.

All he had now were the remnants of a dying legion, a shadow of the great brotherhood he had forged together with Luther, and this...dog he called brother.

"Y'know, you'd better say something soon or dear father's going to think you've gone mute." Leman jabbed. "Then again, I think I find the silence quite enjoyable."

Lion growled, showing ample evidence to the contrary.

"Aha! It speaks!" Leman chortled.

"Primarch Russ, kindly cease in teasing my lord." Grandmaster Azrael asked of the Primarch as politely as he could, "His words are reserved for the Emperor alone, for there is much between them to be discussed. Rest assured, there will be plenty of interactions between you two once his audience has been concluded."

Despite the gnawing temptation of tormenting his rival to breaking point, Leman reined in his whim and let his brother be. A good thing too, were it not for the agonizing feeling of despair to cloud his mind, the Lion would have drawn steel and had at his rival like it was in the old days. Together, the Wolf and Lion approached their father in the council chamber. There, their eyes fell upon Rogal Dorn.

The first to greet them, of course, was Leman Russ. "Ah! You live, old fool!"

Dorn's brow shot up in apparent surprise. He left the Emperor's side to approach his brothers. Gilded hands reached out to hold Lion El'Johnson's own, to which the Primarch of the Dark Angels responded in kind. "Lion, you're looking well."

When all else fails, and the walls tumble down, the bonds of brotherhood is all that matters. Lion approached him, finding the Praetorian's company more welcoming than the insufferable barbarian he called brother, and likewise grasped his hands in turn. There was a certain weakness in his grip that troubled Rogal Dorn, and as was his nature he addressed his brother's health.

"Are you not well, Lion?"

 **"It is not weakness that softens his grip, Rogal, but rather an overwhelming sadness that melts the bones."** The Emperor announced as he strode forward from his throne, **"Hold me, my son, and speak your mind. I know your despair more than anyone. Let me grant you strength..."**

Lion knelt before his father and finally spoke. His voice was a mournful cry, "I awoke with the fresh memory of betrayal, wrought by the hands of ones I called my brothers. I awoke with the pain of a mortal wound, dealt by one I called father. Now, I walk once more to find all that I have fought for torn asunder. How can you grant me strength in this dark hour, when the standards we have erected lie broken in the mud? No, Emperor of mine...I cannot rejoice, for this Lion has lost his pride...stolen from him by the same fiends who now ride the solar winds unabated!"

The room was quiet, for all beheld the scene before them with all intent.

"I turn this despair into anger!" The cry gradually molded itself into a wrathful howl, "You have called me here to set me to purpose, to aid in restoring the Imperium to its just and former glory- when my mind and heart remains broken, leaving little room for restoration yet ample enough for vengeance! Oh my father, I am in no shape to lead...clarity shall grace my wounded soul only after I have brought all those who wronged me to justice!"

The Emperor's extended hand fell slack against his side, and he regarded his son thoughtfully. **"Vengeance is what you desire, is it?"**

"Send me away to hunt down my treacherous brethren, that I might at least remove the stain to the First Legion's honor!" Lion asked of the Emperor, "Grant me this request, that I might also free the Imperium of an elusive threat once and for all."

 **"What of the Imperium itself? And what of its restoration? Would you leave this undertaking to me and your brothers while you roam free?"**

"In all the time you've known me, have I ever asked much of you?" Lion replied.

 **"I don't recall you have, but is that reason enough for me to excuse you?"**

"Will I not perform better once this burden is removed?" Lion asked, remaining adamant in his desire. "If that is not reason enough, I do not know what else would convince you."

The Emperor pursed his lips and pondered on his next words a bit more before speaking, **"I would not have you remain burdened unnecessarily, but I cannot allow this venture to last for too long. Lion, do you understand fully why I and all your brothers need you with us?"**

"I do, and as much as I desire to retake my discarded mantle as protector of the realms of men, I wish for a speedy conclusion to this quest of mine."

 **"I grant your request, now that I know you take its full weight in mind."** The Emperor said, **"Go** **, Lion, but remember the lives that hang in the balance."**

* * *

The sky was a beautiful mess of orange, blue and pink in the late noon light. One's stare could even pierce the thin clouds, to see the twin moons that orbited Y'ttetia, and marvel at the natural masterpiece painted firm in the heavens' glorious canvas.

Aggregia shielded her eyes with one hand as she gazed up at the little speck in the horizon. Her brother wouldn't come down any time soon, and watching him revel in the serenity of that quiet place while she remained inactive upon solid ground made her feel exceedingly bored. The hour was growing late, and soon their mother would call for them to retire for the evening.

Sangy, as she took to call her twin on account of his long and ridiculous name, never liked remaining on earth for too long, preferring the solitude of the skies as his massive wings allowed him to soar amongst the beasts of the air. That, and he hated being cooped up in the lonely house. Aggregia always wondered about the significance of their curious names, though not at all becoming satisfied with their father's answer. Named after his closest friends, he would say, legendary warriors in their own right. Neither Aggregia nor Sanguinius met them, so neither felt any pride in the hidden blessing.

Day after day, ever since his wings had grown twice his size, Sanguinius escaped his morning duties to fly. Mother would punish him once he came down, of course, but that didn't stop the boy in the least. Y'ttetia was a place of wonder, and he never got enough from his daily explorations. With sharp eyes and a hearty stamina, Sanguinius would go for hours traveling thousands and thousands of miles soaking up the sights. On many an occasion, he would generously return a sample from one of his many adventures to his beloved twin sister.

Being the only person on the planet with wings, and a particularly backward planet, Sanguinius quickly became a local legend. And in a civilization that was largely struggling to emerge out of the bronze age, he was revered in many places as a god.

Feeling left out would be an understatement. Aggregia felt jealous.

"Your vanity will be your downfall." The eldest twin sighed.

"Wise words often left unheeded." Horus said, surprising his daughter as he suddenly closed the distance from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh, father!" The girl squeaked, playfully smacking the bigger man on the arm as he wrapped her up into his embrace. "Must you sneak up on me at every waking moment?"

"Consider it as payback for your failed attempts to sneak up on me as a child." Horus, "What are you doing out here so far from the house?"

"Nothing much." Aggregia replied, pointing up as the speck grew in size. "Just waiting for him to finally come down to earth."

Horus remembered the state of his house and the unfinished tasks his little boy left to his sister. Celestine was not pleased and planned to wallop her wayward son the moment he returned home. Horus decided against it, convincing his wife of another method that would substitute as a form of punishment but would serve to hammer in the traits they both wished Sanguinius would grow into. "Tell me, Gia, when was the last time we left the safety of our home to venture out into the wilderness?"

"A little over two years ago, I guess." Aggregia answered, "Why do you ask, father?"

"I've come to realize your young hearts crave the outside world, and I've been thinking..." Horus looked at her thoughtfully, "You remember our visits with that village up in the mountains, beside the old abandoned temple that scared you as children?"

"It still does, and I remember. Why?"

"People have been disappearing. Each month one or two would just vanish without a trace, but recently that amount has doubled. Something evil has taken root."

"Bandits, maybe?"

Horus shook his head, "Bandits do not tend to eat their victims, as this threat seems to habitually commit."

"Surely this is something the local authorities are best suited to handle?"

"Have you ever taken into account how far away we are from the nearest outpost and city?"

Aggregia pursed her lips, "You wish to do something about it?"

"I do, and I want you both to travel with me."

"Father...we are yet to emerge into adulthood." Aggregia said hesitantly.

"Your mother said the same thing, and yet as I told you each day from the moment you've spoken your first word- you are not just any child of man." Horus put an arm around his daughter, "You are mine, and wherever evil goes you must stand for the defenseless. Evil will not wait, neither should you."

The faint flapping of wings alerted father and daughter to the boy making his descent from the skies. His ears caught on to the latter of the sentence and his curiosity begged for answers, "Hello father. What's going on?"

"Sanguinius, I did not appreciate you abandoning your responsibilities this morning." Horus said sternly, "And frankly, I'm getting tired of repeating this same old conversation."

"Then don't broach the subject again." The boy replied petulantly. "For you know your words fall on deaf ears."

Horus frowned, restraining his hand from striking the arrogance out of his son as he knew it would do no good. Sanguinius early on held no humility, and any punishment wrought by his parent's hands served only to fuel his spite for the family. He would have to learn humility the hard way, and Horus was going to let him have it. "Your sister and I were just discussing about solving a local problem. We're going out to hunt a monster plaguing the countryside, and I thought of you. You wish to have your freedom, to prove you are capable of leaving the nest? You will have that chance. Or is this venture beneath you?"

Sanguinius snorted, "And you're coming with us? Not much of a freedom when you seek to smother us with your 'guiding hand'."

Horus knew he would say this, and prepared well for it. "I am not to guide you, but to observe. We taught you much in your time at home, and now you will have the chance to use them to purpose."

"Hah!" The boy scoffed, apparently falling for the bait. "Are you attempting to punish me? If so, you are failing miserably! Very well, I shall take you up on your offer. You sought to cage this bird when his destiny is to soar above the heavens, I will show you and mother the folly of your ways!" With that, the boy rose up and took to the skies, planning to spend the night away from the house and free to roam the wilderness until he was to meet with his father for the journey the next day.

Aggregia crossed her arms and glared up at her brother as he disappeared into the night.

"Your vanity will be your downfall."

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	22. The Icarus Part Two

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The house of the Lupercal family stood etched into the face of a mountain, made accessible by a natural stone stairway carved into the stones by both the elements and the feet of the occasional traveler looking to spend the night in the shelter of the rocky caves therein. The Primarch and his wife built the house by hand, and were assisted later by the locals who beheld the giants with all the awe and wonder lesser humans tended to have. Soon after, they built their own houses close to the family compound, dedicating themselves voluntarily to serve the newcomers in any way they needed. Horus and Celestine wanted to create an environment where their children would grow in relative safety while also allowing their freedom to explore the beautiful forest paradise around, and having some people to interact with seemed healthy at the time.

Alas, sometimes such freedoms are subject to abuse, as was the case with young Sanguinius. And with early exposure to the adoration and worship of the locals around, it only served to inflate his already monstrously bloated ego.

Horus, upon returning to the family compound with his daughter riding on his massive shoulders, met with the Custodes Arther and his coterie of fellow guardians at the gate. The Emperor's elite bodyguards had this look about them that told Horus they knew what was up with his son. They had watched Sanguinius and Aggregia grow from when they were toddlers, and in fact, practically raised them along with Celestine and Horus. Taking part in training the godlings with the basics of martial arts had given them ample time to observe the gradual changes in their personalities.

Aggregia grew from the noisy and needy little one to a quiet and thoughtful early teen, who rubbed off on the Custodes who once thought of her as little more than an annoyance.

As for Sanguinius, the boy's change was sudden. From a timid, small and easily daunted little thing, Sanguinius rose up as fast as his wings first spread to full span. Surprisingly, the Custodes were never bothered by this as much as his parents, for they had grown accustomed to the sophisticated air of the Terran people that Sanguinius' attitude meant little to them.

Nevertheless, it was a problem that needed to be corrected, and Horus hoped such correction would come soon.

"He took my gauntlets, my lord." Arther reported.

Horus frowned and sighed heavily, "Let him have it for now. Sanguinius is never one to waste such fine instruments. Trust that it will be returned once he tires of playing the game."

Arther nodded, remembering the other times the playful imp stole bits of his own armor and armaments in the past. Sanguinius never broke or left even a scratch on his belongings when 'borrowed'."Understood." With that done, the Custodes retired for the evening to begin their regular moments of deep meditation.

"Ah finally." A cross, worried voice called from the open door of the house. Celestine stood there, leaning against the doorpost with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked at her daughter sternly, "You're home."

Sheepishly, Aggregia approached her mother. As if on cue, she kept her head tilted downwards, eyes up as she puckered up her lips in a desperate attempt to get the heat off of her. Unfortunately for the girl, Celestine was in no mood for the obvious trick. With but a sharp note in her next sentence, Aggregia dropped the puppy-eyed look and hastily entered the house. "Food's on the table."

"B-But mother, it's cold." Aggregia whined upon touching the plate.

"Come home on time, Gia, and you'd get a warm meal." Celestine snarled, "Eat."

"Yes mother." The girl squeaked, grabbing a spoon and devouring her dinner quickly to avoid further punishment. As soon as she was finished, she grabbed the dirty dishes, washed them all thoroughly and headed straight for her room downstairs.

Left alone with her husband, Celestine allowed the stern frown to fade away, replaced quickly by a warm smile as she felt his arms snake around her waist. There, locked securely against his chest, she felt like he would melt into his embrace. A welcome change to the harrowing experience of dealing with two insubordinate children, restrained from certain measures she was accustomed to in the Sisterhood...the harrowing experience more commonly known as parenthood.

"Hey." Horus rumbled in her ear.

"Hey yourself." Celestine leaned back and nestled her head against his neck, "I see you've failed to bring our wayward son into the fold. What happened?"

"I've managed to convince him to come along with us on the hunt." Horus explained, "Then he remained adamant about maintaining his freedom, and flew off."

"I've half a mind to snatch him out of the sky and bruise his wings." Celestine said in turn.

Horus recalled the uncomfortable memory of his wife giving chase to the young Sanguinius when he first escaped into the skies of Y'tettia. Though Celestine, by nature, possessed the power to close the distance, Sanguinius possessed an impressive agility that allowed him to remain out of his mother's reach. To him, it was a fun game, more fun than the grueling morning routine of training with the bodyguards and the daily chores. But alas, Celestine found no humor in the chase. To her, Sanguinius had shirked his duties and as such needed correction. Keeping up the chase, to her meant he defied her authority and served to fuel her anger. Keeping it up even longer, to her meant he was mocking her, and that was the last straw.

That was the first time young Sanguinius tasted of his mother's wrath. Celestine, as punishment, beat his wings until the apex where flesh and feather met was raw and red as his teary eyes. For days, the boy could barely walk upright, let alone fly, for his back was sore as though he had been struck by lightning. From that day forward, as soon as he was healed, Sanguinius' periods of absence grew and grew, as did Celestine's ire towards her son.

Horus did not condemn his wife's actions, but tried to explain the reasons behind his son's punishment. Such explanations fell short, however, due in no small part to the fact that Sanguinius often took to the skies as soon as his father or mother would approach him.

"Darling, we talked about this." Horus reminded her.

"We did, and I still think your method is doomed to fail." Celestine pushed herself out of her husband's embrace. "Our son does not require a soft touch, but an iron hand."

"He requires the love of his mother." Horus said quietly, knowing another argument was on its way.

"And he will get it, only after he has realized his mistakes!" Celestine's voice grew taut and her eyes narrowed, "His actions have consequences, this he must learn early in his youth. Have you forgotten the task set before us by the Emperor, Horus?"

Horus frowned and crossed his arms, "Have you?"

"How dare you accuse me of losing sight of my duty? How dare you, when you seek to coddle our children like they are of the common folk?"

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Everything!" Celestine's pitch rose, revealing her exasperation. "What were you thinking when the Emperor told us to raise them upright? That we would raise them up to become farmers, lesser born workers, forever chained to this world while their destinies lie amongst the stars?"

"I was to give them something my father was never able to give me or my brothers." Horus reminded her, "A family, a complete childhood and a sound upbringing."

"Horus!" Celestine reached out and grabbed her husband's arms, "I know you mean well, and I know you love our children. A lifetime ago you swore never to betray humanity again, but in denying Sanguinius his destiny to serve the Emperor and the Imperium entire by this...this unfitting desire to raise them like the lesser-born- that in itself is betrayal!"

Horus wished she hadn't gone there. It hurt him to hear her say it, and his first instinct was to shut it all out and remain adamant in his decisions. But all the hard won wisdom within him told Horus to listen close, take to heart, and consider carefully how he would convince his wife that this was in fact the right way. He saw beyond the jagged words that cut like the teeth of chainswords, he saw she was in her own way trying to serve both the Emperor, her god and king, and the Imperium entire by gifting them with two godlings that would bring hope in such a dark time. His love for his wife allowed him to brave her sharp tongue and allow reason to dominate his words.

"Oh, my love." Horus sighed, "You seek to show our children their place among the stars, yet do not see that all you're doing is flinging them far into the darkness. I have seen what happens when one forces a destiny upon another, when in truth destiny itself is revealed only to those it belongs to- unmarred by the influence of others. While ultimately, I desire to see my children flying high, to march alongside us as we fight against the enemies of mankind...I want them to grow to love their duty to the Imperium, to recognize the glorious purpose of serving mankind. You cannot do such a thing by hammering it into their minds."

"Yes you can."

"Perhaps." Horus shrugged, "If they were commoners. But it is just like you said, they are anything but..."

Celestine was taken aback by his reply and shook her head in disbelief, "Oh you crafty old wolf, you." Realization dawned upon the Saint and she felt ashamed by all she had said and done. Alas, one can only do so much to fix the damage done in the past. Her head dropped against her hand as she moaned, "I'm terrible at this."

Horus reached out to hug her again, "All the best parents start out terrible."

"It's a wonder our son didn't run away sooner." Celestine sighed.

"There is still hope, room for improvement." Horus reassured her, "He can't stay mad at us forever."

"I should...try to talk to him."

"Not yet." The Primarch denied, "Let me start while the hunt goes, see how amenable he is."

As the couple moved to retire for the evening, Horus' ears caught the faint flapping of wings by the window. A knowing smile crossed his lips as he realized then that his son had been eavesdropping on his parent's discussion. He could hardly wait for the day they would venture out into the wilderness to begin the hunt together. Now that Sanguinius knew both sides of the story, it would prove easier for Horus to bridge the gap forming between them.

* * *

Months stretched into a full year as the Ulthweian vessel navigated the Webway in search of safe harbor. There, the young half-breed Senua trained under the Farseer Tamila, intent on harnessing the raw power fulminating within her soul. Her training was harsh, brutal and merciless in both the physical and mental aspect. Many a time the girl teetered on the brink of collapse, yet always mustered the indomitable willpower to forge onwards regardless.

Tamila was not her mother, and she was not a forgiving teacher. In all essence, she was the embodiment of the cold reality of life. There was no place for the weak here, and Senua refused to be weak. She did not just wish to be on par with the preening masses that she called her hosts, but strove to tower above them. Over the weeks, she displayed an untapped potential that dangerously rivaled that of even Tamila's or any of the Seers in the Craftworld, prompting the Council to reconsider their decision in allowing the half-breed to continue studying the ways of the Aeldari.

They feared she would be used against them.

And they were justified in their fears, for many an occasion in between training exercises a daemon would breach the sanctity of the ark and threaten the refugees within, which Senua would banish quickly into the Warp. Truth be told, such an endeavor proved monumentally taxing on the girl's part, but was reason enough for the Council to regard her with seething paranoia.

Though she showed little to no sign of favor in deference to the child, Tamila stood as the only bulwark defending Senua and her father. One might mistake her for growing a begrudging affection for the girl, but in all honesty her only reason for her actions was due to her fervent desire to initiate change within the static state of the Craftworld. She meant what she said that Taldeer's life inspired her in ways that no one could have anticipated, and she would see Senua seize her own destiny. Only reason, or perhaps the one she'd delude herself into thinking was the only existing one.

One day, as Senua finished with the day's exercises, Tamila approached her pupil to grant her a well deserved gift.

"Come to me, young one." Tamila beckoned, "I have brought you something."

Senua neared her teacher. The girl's eyes widened with wonder as Tamila placed a curious looking orb within her hands. "What is it, mistress?"

"That, my student, is your final step to completing your training under me." Tamila replied. "Concentrate on the orb, let it shape according to your thoughts."

The orb molded and stretched itself in Senua's hands, forming a long and slender blade of black obsidian. From handle and hilt to shaft and tip, the sword gleamed like the night sky. The girl smiled contentedly and bowed her head in gratitude, "Thank you, my mistress."

"I've taught you all that I can." The Farseer said as she walked alongside her pupil, "It is time for you to begin your journey in this life alone. For the Aeldari, it is fairly easy to seek one's path..."

"But I am not fully Aeldari." Senua finished.

"There's enough of the ancient blood of Asuryan running through your veins, I care not if your human lineage mingles with it." Tamila replied, "Blood offers potential, but it is you who harnesses the gifts granted to you. I am...proud to say that you've exceeded my expectations."

"And I am honored to have been your student." Senua returned, "If I may ask this favor from you, mistress, would you direct me to which path I would best be suited for?"

"Your path is bound to war, as all things in this bleak future must be." Tamila sighed, "I watched you grow with your time training here, I saw your inclination to become a master of the empyriecal arts...and I saw the dangers that come with it. I have taught you of the destructive nature of the Warp, Senua...take care that you do not fall prey to its foul promises. The Immaterium is filled with enemies, and your human blood, while it gives you unparalleled strength, makes you vulnerable..."

"I shall not play with fire, lest I be scorched, my mistress." Senua vowed.

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	23. The Icarus Part Three

**Happy Holidays, everyone! Consider this update as a simple gift for you!**

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 _Every night had that same dream._

 _She would rise in the middle of a crowded bridge, crushed into place by the quivering masses as the maddened multitude hurtled for an unknown destination. Upon reaching the end of the bridge, the crowd would disperse, freeing her at last from the suffocating grip of bodies pressed together. Looking upwards, she would see the hypnotic swirl of shimmering stars in the darkening skies. So close to the earth would the lights hang that one could easily mistake them for diamonds._

 _Entertaining the thought seemed to change the very ground she treaded. Her bare soles would scream in pain at the jagged diamonds that flecked the golden path. Trees of pure living gold sprouted out of the earth, claiming prey after prey as wayward souls would climb their branches in futile attempts to wrest their bejeweled prizes away from their boughs- only to meet their swift end by plummeting back to the ground, dashing their joyous faces into mush upon the gilded floor._

 _Gentle breezes that caused the grass to shimmer like the waters of an ocean under a noon sun. As the wind passed over the blades of grass and through the branches and leaves of the trees, it took on a voice that beckoned all to take as much as they wanted and more. The mountains that rose up on the horizon reflected a glorious warm light, letting all who saw them know that they too were formed from gold._

 _Pathways through the fields paved with cobblestones not of granite or shale, but of ruby and emerald. At the edges of the paths, loose gemstones and gold nuggets sat, waiting for anyone to pick them up and slip them in a pouch. There was always room for one more glittering stone, one more pebble of gold._ _Wandering souls ensnared by this domain would do well to recall the legends that say that if those who lined their pockets with these treasures were able to take their eyes off the objects of their desire, they would note that not all they saw there was shining._

 _Dull bits of bone and other remains are plentiful here as well. These are all that is left of those who filled their pockets, pouches, sleeves, and boots with so much gold that they collapsed under the weight of it. Unwilling or unable to let the riches go, they died where they fell, smiles on their faces despite their impending ends._

 _Then a red hand would reach out from beyond the veil, firm yet gentle, and pluck Aggregia free from the fevered dream. She fell through an open gate, where the mysterious stranger held her aloft as they both glided through the stars. Down and down they went, further into the blackness of the void. Aggregia, upon glancing up to behold her companion, would see nothing but the shrouded silhouette of the stranger. A single shining eye looked upon her in turn, and his voice so gentle would chide her softly._

 _"Be careful where you tread, little one."_

* * *

Aggregia woke up, sweating and breathing heavily as though she had run a marathon. Her throat felt dry and her sides felt as though something had squeezed against her in the night. This was the first time her dreams took a physical toll on her, and it worried her to no end. The girl stared out of the open window and realized that dawn had not yet come. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the early morning, Aggregia noticed the faint glow of handprints on her arms and shoulders.

It wasn't just a dream.

Sitting at the breakfast table, however, Aggregia hesitated in revealing the events of that turbulent night. Her mother and father seemed to have a lot on their plate that day, their attention then occupied as they discussed openly what was happening in the world around them.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes, my lady." Arther replied with a nod.

Horus leaned back against his chair and scratched his chin thoughtfully, "It's not like there's a lot of winged men in this world, my dear."

"Winged men that could kill two whole armies in a single night?" Celestine pointed out, showing her disbelief at the news. "Our son is barely into his teens-

"And yet we trained him to do exactly that." Horus replied, showing his wonder at Sanguinius' feat. "I don't believe you'd disapprove of his realization of his innate talents, but I understand you'd want to know why exactly would he meddle in the affairs of kings."

"That's right." Celestine declared as she stood up, "And I've half a mind to drag that vainglorious little imp back down to earth and show him the error of his ways. This has gone on long enough."

Horus didn't bother getting up after her. His decision was firm and he wouldn't change it now that the day was upon them, "Sit down, my love." He ignored the searing glare his wife threw his way, "We agreed to do it my way, and I will follow through with it. I shall find out exactly what happened in time, and if fortune favors, I will have convinced Sanguinius to return home. Spare the rod for the moment, we know it's getting us nowhere."

Celestine said nothing and quickly left the table.

"My lord, excuse us." The Custodes said with a polite bow and left the room to father and daughter.

"Father, why is mother always so angry?"

"Have you given her any reason not to be?" Horus replied.

"I...don't know. But...couldn't she be a little bit nicer when she's upset?"

Horus smiled and took his daughter's hand, "Little one, have I ever told you how your mother was raised?" When she shook her head he continued, "She grew up without a mother and a father, raised in the cloisters of the Sisters of Our Martyred Lady. There, they were taught to worship the Emperor and dedicate their whole lives in his service. Her only parents were the rod and the lash, harsh teachers, yet taught her well they did. She never understood love, though in her heart she longed for it..."

"And then she met you?"

Horus closed his eyes for a second and laughed at the memory, "I showed her what love could be, true enough. But she only ever understood what love is when she gave birth to you and Sanguinius. Don't mistake your mother's intentions. She does not seek to hurt her children, she only wishes to help you by teaching you the order of things. Her punishing hand serves to remind you that actions have consequences, and to show you humility and grace under authority. Granted, she may go too far with some punishments, but never condemn her for doing her duty as a parent...learn the lesson she wishes to teach and rise as a better person for it."

Little Aggregia embraced Horus, "I will, father."

"Good, now off you go." The Primarch told his daughter, reminding her of their planned trip through the wilderness with her wayward twin.

* * *

The carrion birds circled about the battlefield, intent on feasting upon the thousand corpses that lay there after the battle.

In the middle of the battlefield sat a small town, or rather, the remains of it. Two regents, both laying claim to the throne of the ruling kingdom at the time, hastily chose this place as their theater for their struggle to ascend to the height of political power. Two regents, two houses, two armies to march upon one another. A civil war, brother against brother, a conflict that would soon engulf the land in fire and blood.

This battle, however, proved costly to both as Sanguinius laid waste to all who contested there.

One might mistake the angelic being for his deeds that turned the battle into a slaughter. One might say he did so out of anger, or some might say he did so for glory, perhaps for the battle's own sake as most would. The truth lay in all three, for Sanguinius relished in the opportunity to spread his wings. Saving the little town from the petty squabble of the regents' armies was a bonus, for Sanguinius found glory in the act itself. He was, after all, a god to these people. What god would he be if he had not intervened on their behalf?

He sat atop a small hill soaked with the blood of the slain, looking on in disgust as he realized his wings were caked in gore after wading deep into the fray hours prior. His own blood surged through his veins, power all too eager to be spent. He found himself craving for more, and he despaired at the thought that this battle was over.

Sanguinius addressed the townsfolk he had saved and advised them to leave their homes for a journey east, towards his family home. As much as he hated to admit it, their security would be improved through the efforts of his family and their guardians.

The young demigod, upon thinking of his family, realized that this was the day he agreed to accompany his father and sister on a quest to rid the countryside of a monster preying on travelers.

"My lord." A group of older women with painted eyes and donning thin satin robes of bright green and red approached the lad. Though they too held the angel in awe as their peers, they jumped at the chance to be of service and gain...insights no other man or woman would ever have. "Allow us to cleanse you of the filth of battle. It is the least we can do."

Sanguinius, of course, in his naivety did not know exactly what kind of women they were...nor the kind of services they offered. He liked the idea of someone helping him clean up, especially with such fine company to go with it. It was only after he had entered the bathhouse they guided him in did he realize what was about to happen. Of course, curiosity and mischief won out, and young Sanguinius tasted of the pleasures of the flesh for the first time.

Still, never forgetting his agreement with his father, Sanguinius reluctantly parted. He took to the skies, cleansed of the filth of battle yet soiled in mind.

Watching from the safety of their tent, weary from the struggle and seething with hatred over the abrupt end to their efforts, the young and brash regent and his generals gathered to discuss alternatives to rectify the enormous setback brought on by the angelic figure. House Lykkarius, an old and well respected clan in the land, was led by the eldest living male who inherited his status after his father, the elected protector of the realm, died from a plague that once ravaged the kingdom. When the king died without an heir, Regent Maltheus seized the opportunity to lay claim to the empty throne, putting forth his legitimacy as a member of the royal bloodline.

Unfortunately, House Ember, a rival clan and whose own regent possessed a closer relation to the royal bloodline than Maltheus, contested House Lykkarius' claim and declared war. The battle that had been fought on that valley, if either side won, would've utterly decimated the other and given the victor ample opportunity to swell in strength and numbers until they would've possessed the odds to overwhelm their rivals and claim the throne for themselves. Alas, as it so happened, neither side achieved a decisive victory due in no small part to the timely intervention of the demigod.

Regent Maltheus stared silently into the crackling flames of the lit brazier before him, hearing but never listening to the heated arguments of his generals around him. His hands closed down around the hilt of his sword as it dug deep into the earth, pushed through the dirt by the weight of his arms as he fought through the exhaustion and overwhelming rage welling up within him.

His eyes fell upon the lonely town sitting in the middle of the valley, regarding the ring of corpses strewn around it in a neat circle of blood and gore. A winged man flew past the clouds and into the dawning sky, the same winged man who was the architect of his decimation. His anger demanded that he devote a considerable amount of resource to track down the interloper and bring him to justice, while his calmer side instructed him to gather his lost strength and focus only on fighting House Ember. Today, he treaded upon unwelcome territory and earned him the wrath of the demigod, prudence dictated that he carry his battles elsewhere.

"Quiet, my good sirs." Regent Matheus sighed wearily as he leaned back into his chair, possessing a cooler head and a calmer disposition. Once his generals ceased in their talks to listen, he continued. "The battle may have been lost for us, but so too have House Ember."

"That damned creature should be hunted down for his arrogance!" One of his advisers exploded, his outburst shared by most of the men in the room.

"In time, perhaps." Maltheus replied. "But we are already too exhausted from the fight to expend on that venture. Instead, we will march the army back north and lick our wounds. If we recover before winter is upon us, we shall march upon House Ember once again. I would prefer if the next battle would be far away from this damned valley as possible."

"You would have us run with our tails between our legs, boy!?"

Maltheus growled, "You forget yourself, sir." Many had questioned his claim before, from within and without the clan's inner circle. Seldom did he show his frustration for their doubts of his capabilities, and this counted as one of them.

"Ahem." Lord Festor, Maltheus' uncle and teacher, attempted to calm the heated exchange. "What the passionate general meant to say is that this recent defeat may be salvaged. As proven by the reports, House Ember took the brunt of the creature's assault. There is still a chance to put the enemy to rout and claim a Pyrrhic victory."

"The enemy already is at rout, uncle. And I would rather not that I lose more men than necessary today." Maltheus stood up and addressed his advisers firmly, "Forget not that our campaign for the crown will be long and arduous. Steady and prepared is the pace I shall take, as will all of you." He glared at the general who spoke out of turn, who then bowed apologetically and left the room upon dismissal.

"Well then, that settles the matter about the army." Lord Festor said once he and his nephew were alone. "What of that creature?"

"One problem at a time, uncle." Maltheus said as he pulled the plug out of the jug of wine and started to pour himself a cup. He paused, tossed the plug, and chugged down the whole jug. Once he was finished, the regent wiped his lips with the back of his hand and started for his personal tent to retire for the day. "That creature will still be here when we return for House Ember. Perhaps once we've gained the throne, I shall pay him a visit."

 **}!{**


	24. Lord of the Night

**}!{**

The sun rose higher and higher into the sky until it settled upon its throne in the center to rule the day. Horus leaned back on his haunches as he sat beneath the ancient tree, waiting patiently for his son to join up with him and Aggregia. The girl who stood beside him brushed at the leaves that settled on her shoulder and sighed in exasperation.

"He's not coming."

"Patience, my dear." Horus replied. "He will come." His eyes scanned the horizon, carefully studying every speck dotting the clouds in the sky, until at last he spotted the winged figure diving down back to earth. "See? There he is."

Sanguinius' manner of greeting his father was warmer than usual, proving that Horus' words the other night had taken root. "Good morning, father. Hello, Gia. I apologize for being late, I had to pry myself away from some...trivial distraction before coming here." He landed with a soft thud upon both feet and folded his wings, "Shall we be on our way?"

Horus smelled the strong scent of women's perfume on his son's person, "A trivial distraction, my son?"

"Why, yes!" Sanguinius said, clearly showing his discomfort of the topic. "But I'm here now, it shouldn't matter."

"I see." Horus let the issue slide, picking up his bag of supplies for the journey and the iron great-mace that served as his weapon of choice for the hunt. "We'd best be on our way, while the day is still young."

The trio first traveled to the treacherous cliffs overlooking the river flowing from an extinct volcano that birthed the land long ago, the site of which provided their first clue. With the land mired in the brutal war for the throne, none paid heed to the monsters that infested the dark roads and hillsides. The evidence of the latest victims still remained upon the ground where they lay, now subject to decay as the elements weathered them down to bleached bone and tattered garments. A caravan of merchants, surprisingly left with their valuables still intact where they lay. Dark smears of dried blood painted the woodwork and wheels, but no sign of the monster.

"Huh." Sanguinius remarked upon seeing the state of the remains. "It would seem that this monster prefers its victims' skulls, and nothing else." Horus noted his son's observation and approached the corpses. Indeed, not a single head remained on any of the bodies.

"Disgusting." Aggregia said with a scowl, "Let's get what we came for and track down this beast. The sooner we finish this, the better."

"Sanguinius." Horus said to the angel, watching closely how he would react to his words. "I'm pleased to have you here with us."

"And why wouldn't you?" Sanguinius replied haughtily, as usual. "I'm the backbone of this party."

"Oh really?" Aggregia said sarcastically, hand twisting the hilt of the sword that hung at her hip. "Backbone of the party, he says. I cannot help but wonder at your apparent lack of equipment, if you at all take such a task seriously."

"What, these?" The younger twin chuckled, showing his polished gauntleted hands. "I _am_ the weapon, and these are merely tools. You will not find me lacking."

"Perhaps not in that." Aggregia said, glancing at her father. "But there are many ways one could be found wanting."

"Your sister is right. Take care that your arrogance does not blind you to this, my son." Horus warned. "While I do not doubt you have the strength and power that befits a son of the Emperor of Mankind, temper it, I pray."

"What is there to temper, when raw strength is all I need?" Sanguinius grinned, "I faced two whole armies in battle, alone, and emerged unscathed. Can you honestly say the same for yourselves?"

"You would seriously compare yourself with father, of all people?" Aggregia said incredulously. "These triumphs you so brag about, they pale in comparison to the things he faced!"

"For now, they do." Sanguinius answered, undaunted by the challenge. "But if I face the same trial, I'd do just as well- if not better."

Horus was silent for a long time, his mind occupied as he imagined the many horrors he fought against in his long life and how his son would fare against them. He worried that his bravado would undermine his ability to be truly prepared for his role in the war, but also, he maintained that life itself would be the better teacher. Harsh and unforgiving, just the kind that serve Sanguinius well. If he would choose the hard path, then so be it. Slowly, he warned Sanguinius. "Pray that the day never comes when you have to, my son. But if it does, I hope that your strength would serve you well."

Sanguinius smiled proudly, "You will see. Whatever the universe will throw my way, I will throw it back with equal force."

There was a faint rustle in the bushes behind the evidence site, and the trio swiveled about to face the intruders.

"Greetings." A woman said as she emerged with her companions in tow. She towered above her fellows at seven feet, easily the size of the average astartes. The woman was dressed in thick plated power-armor, an archaic suit powered by a glowing crystal core. Crude by Horus' standards, but revolutionary given the state of technological development on Y'tettia. She carried a single-bladed axe, which also bore the signs of her armorer's handiwork. The blade functioned similarly to a graviton-weapon, sporting a massive gear-turbine on the other end. Whoever she was, she was not the average adventurer.

And neither were her companions, who possessed similar armaments. There were four in all. The woman, a humanoid creature whose resemblance was that of a cat, a short and stout male dwarf encased in even thicker power-armor, and a man dressed in a priest's robes.

"Hello there." Horus returned the greeting warmly. He smiled as the newcomers gaped at his stature, but paused to note that Sanguinius practically beamed at the attention when their eyes fell upon his wings.

"I see you've chanced upon the leavings of our quarry." The woman observed, referring to the destroyed caravan the trio were inspecting. "By the looks, I judge that we're already too late."

"You've been chasing this same monster as well?" Horus inquired, placing his mace headfirst down and his hands upon its counter-balance. "It gladdens me to know someone at least is paying attention to what goes on in the shadows."

"It's our job, sir." She replied, "When war rages, the corpses start piling, and there come the monsters to feast upon the remains. Oh, but I forget my manners. I am Commander Vestra, of the Watchers Guild." The woman extended her arm in greeting to bridge the gap between the two parties.

"I am Horus Lupercal." The Primarch took her hand in turn and grasped it firmly. He referred to his children as he introduced them in turn, "This is my son, Sanguinius, and my daughter Aggregia."

"Sanguinius?" Vestra smirked, finding the name familiar. "You wouldn't happen to be that same Sanguinius who decimated Regent Maltheus' legions in a single night?"

Seizing the chance to make his name better known, Sanguinius replied. "Not just his legions, I am told."

* * *

The warlock propped himself up by his broken spear, feeling weak as his wounds sapped him of all his strength. With a trembling hand, he raised his arm to put up one final front against his enemy.

The Daemonblade of the Laer descended, reducing the warlock into a black mist as it drank of his soul and destroyed his body in one blow. The Daemon Prince Fulgrim stood high above the lessers daemons spilling into the Ulthwe'an vessel, seething with great passion as his eyes took in the battlefield. Having suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the half-breed child on Calmainoc, Fulgrim suffered even greater humiliation upon reforming in the Warp. His beautiful form, that serpentine epitome of perfection and grace that he was reborn into millennia ago, had been replaced with a lesser form. He walked upon two legs like the lesser man, undeserving of the blessings of Slaanesh until his slight had been repaid in turn.

Here he stood, close to his elusive prey after centuries traversing the timeless corridors of the Warp. Around him lay the corpses of hundreds of aeldari, surrounded by the flaming debris torn from the bursting bulkheads.

To the defenders of the ark, it had been only a few years since the attack on Calmainoc. The assault brought upon by the Emperor's Children was still fresh upon their minds, and the battle-weary defenders found little strength in facing another onslaught so soon. But attack, they did. Surging forth and bursting out of the tunnels of the Webway, with renewed strength from the death of a god, the Emperor's Children Legion descended upon the limping collection of vessels fleeing Calmainoc and caught the flotilla completely by surprise.

But even there, there was still hope. A fire burned amidst the darkness, growing brighter as it consumed each and every daemon and heretic astartes that crossed its path.

Fulgrim smiled, baring his teeth as he caught sight of his quarry. "Little Senua."

She had changed over the course of those years, now possessing a power that may prove to be a serious threat to the Prince. Fulgrim, lost to his passion, cared little for whatever tricks the young woman held for him. What mattered to the Daemon Prince was that she was going to die that day, and with her, the whole of Craftworld Ulthwe.

"Dark One." Senua stood her ground amidst what was left of the Seer Council. She beheld the hauntingly beautiful creature boldly striding towards her undaunted, as though she had anticipated this moment. Her black blade uttered a loud swish as she drew it free from its sheath, "Come, and meet your death a second time."

Fulgrim uttered a humorless laugh and closed the distance in three long strides as he barreled forward towards the aeldari defenders. He watched as Senua drew her hand to unleash a psychic attack. Suddenly, the Daemon Prince grunted in surprise as he found himself encased in a powerful barrier, isolated from the daemon horde as portal opened above him, effectively swallowing him whole and spewing him outside the vessel, sending him hurtling confused and enraged out into the abyss.

"What did you do?" Tamila asked.

"I did as you have taught me." Senua replied with an amused smirk. "Played by my strengths." She gambled upon the Daemon Prince's bravado, and turned it against him, knowing full well she could not face him head-on. The young woman turned to the aeldari defenders, who looked on in amazement at the half-breed's cunning strategy. "Well? What are you waiting for? These daemons aren't going to kill themselves."

Liivi, who up until now remained unseen as he picked off daemon and astartes from the shadows, fired his rifle and killed a Steed of Slaanesh with well aimed shot to the face. His shot rang out across the battlefield, acting as a rallying cry as the daemon horde, now left without their master, fell swiftly to the surviving defenders of the ark.

"Hurry now, we must flee!" Tamila, now the last surviving seer with the highest authority in the Craftworld, beckoned for the survivors to make a hasty retreat into the escape vessels sitting in the hangars of the ark. "Now! Before the Daemon Prince returns!"

Liivi observed from afar the tactical withdrawal, and swiveled his heavy gun down to cover his daughter's escape with the rest of the Craftworld. Bombarded heavily from all sides as the swarm of fighters and heavy bombers swirled around them in a tight ring, the ark was nearing its end. But with the combined might of the seers, including Senua, a forced tear into the Webway served as their only chance of surviving the surprise attack.

When offered this solution, Senua asked her teacher if such a thing was possible.

"There is much I have not yet shared with you." Tamila revealed, "But let this serve as a new lesson."

The ship uttered a loud groan as its integrity was compromised. The Seers gathered together and poured forth all that they had, offering salvation to the remaining Ulthwe'an vessels under the flotilla. The Warp opened up, spitting out ship after ship as they made a speedy getaway from the battle. The Seers remained aboard the sundering ark, choosing to let the others escape before they made their own headway. This proved to be quite the gamble, for their actions only left them vulnerable to the Daemon Prince's wrath.

Fulgrim, enraged beyond words, leaped from the breach above the hangar and roared. "You will not escape me this time!" His landing caused the bulkhead beneath him to warp and bend at his weight. "Low cunning served you well once, it will not happen again!" The Daemon Prince grunted in annoyance as a bolt slapped him on the cheek. With but a glare, he spied the crouched form of the Vindicare and breathed a stream of pink flames in his direction.

Liivi vaulted across obstacles, narrowly avoiding the flames as they melted everything in their path.

"Go!" Senua told the Seers, "I've got this!"

Seizing the chance to flee, without even a moment's hesitation, the Seers fled the scene. All, save for Tamila, boarded the last ship and sped for the tear in the Webway. Ironically, the act of self-preservation sealed their fate, and the ship erupted in flames as a Hell Talon zeroed in and blasted it apart with a few bursts of its lascannons.

Tamila looked on in horror, feeling her throat become dry as she had thought moments ago of joining them in their flight. Her hesitance, this time, had saved her.

"Oh." Senua blurted, sharing the same feeling as her teacher.

"Alas, it would seem our fates lie in your hands, my student." Tamila sighed wearily.

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?" Senua asked, readying herself for the second confrontation with the Daemon Prince.

* * *

The pyre crackled as the flames reduced its logs to ash, releasing a geyser of bright orange sparks into the night sky.

A small company of soldiers, hailing from Regent Maltheus' reserves from the House's keep, made camp close to the main road that led into Maltheus' own camp, some thirty to forty miles away. They were to replenish to numbers lost in the most recent battle, after suffering a devastating defeat at the hands of the winged creature known as Sanguinius.

These were special reserves, armed with early era guns that resembled flintlock firearms and powerswords powered with revolutionary crystal cores mined from the depths of the extinct volcano that birthed the land. The elite company, as the Regent planned, would aid him both in his attempt to wrest the throne away from his rival and accompany him later on his hunt for Sanguinius.

Their choice of a campsite may have been well thought-out, but ultimately served as their demise. Out here, a monster stalked the shadows.

Towering, fierce, terrible. Nightmare made material.

A gurgled scream from the sentries alerted the camp to the monster's presence, then shots rang out as it entered the camp unhindered. Guns were brought to bear, powerswords were swung from all sides. Alas, for all their advancements, nothing could pierce the monster's hide, whose skin under the moonlight reflected ancient but sturdy plating. Eyes that shone red in the dark petrified all that gazed upon them, and claws just as red promised a painful end. Bodies dropped like flies, and the ground grew slick with the blood of the slain.

A deafening roar, beast-like but holding a haunting resemblance to that which was once human, broke the will of the elite soldiers.

Heads were separated from shoulders with ease, and the chilling laughter of the monster seared deep into the souls of those who took heed to their instincts and fled into the night.

Satisfied with another rich bounty of skulls, and a good sport of the chase, the giant gathered its spoils and lashed them together to hang by its hip.

The face revealed itself under the pale cascade from the stars, a helm that resembled a bristling skull affixed with two broken wings. The Lord of the Night craved for more, for his murderous urges demanded satiation. Then, as the moment of departure drew close, he felt the plane of immaterium wax and shift. The 'scent' of an innate psyker called to him, goading the fallen astartes to cross the borders of his hunting ground to hunt down this peculiarity.

"Blood for the Blood God."

 **}!{**


	25. Meeting the Harvester

**A/N**

 **Boo-hoo-hoo, I'm dying inside.**

 **It. Is. Not. Curze. Even though bringing the Night Haunter back from the dead is plausible, I've no intention of touching that. But then again, that's partly my fault for describing it as such, so I apologize. Anyway, I'm back up from a hiatus and ready with another update. Should have plenty of spare time now that I'm stuck at home, courtesy of the Coronavirus. Don't worry, I'm not sick just advised to stay indoors until this whole thing blows over, and I don't plan on changing that any time soon.**

 **I just hope and pray the same goes for everyone out there, and that this virus dies out without harming anybody else this year. Be safe out there, dear readers!**

 **}!{**

In the shade of alien fruit-trees, covered from the warm sunlight of a red star, an eldar sought communion with his goddess in the serenity brought upon by the isolated spot. Gifted with the peace of mind that none of the Craftworlds could ever offer, as could be found only upon the Maiden Worlds of the Eldar Exodites, among the immortal people free from the shackles brought upon by the Prince of Excess, Acha'menid had no trouble roaming the vast spirit realm created by the collective souls that largely formed the beating heart of the planet itself.

Here, he and so many other uniquely psychically attuned seers, found solace in the presence of the newly freed Goddess Isha. The millennia of her absence hurt the Exodites more than their fellows cursed with lax morals. Her unprecedented return had been welcomed and celebrated, though naturally in the only way the Exodites knew how- through quiet communion and meditation. Isha, ever the doting mother to her lost children, took every opportunity to bring them with her to the great sanctuary of serenity that was the Gardens of Isha. Their visits, though oft would never last long, were a kindness in the dark age they lived in, but the Exodites took great comfort in the one gift Isha blessed them with- salvation for the souls of all their hallowed dead.

The story of how she was saved from the clutches of the enemy had been largely ignored, due in no small part to the shared animosity the aeldari felt for the humans. Their denial saddened the goddess, though she remained undeterred from convincing them of the hidden benevolence mankind had to offer.

The Maiden Worlds provided an immeasurably vast space for their dead to fill, their only safeguard against the hunger of Slaanesh. In times past this served as the fate of all eldar who lived and died. Now, their fates lay in the golden fields of the goddess. Indeed, the Exodites held this as the greatest gift her children could ever have, and felt they deserved after suffering for all those years. The dead could live on in the embrace of the goddess, while the living plod on with their lives and yearn for that sweet release.

"They are the lucky ones."

Acha'menid nodded without opening his eyes. The sound of bare feet scraping the dirt beside him reached his ears, alerting him to the presence of his mentor, a wanderer whose loyalty was now pledged to the Exodites who welcomed him when no other kinsmen would. Tolosai knew what Acha'menid thought of the most as of late, and proceeded to lecture him on what was proper. "Do not covet the gifts of the dead, yours shall come in due time as the goddess wills it. While you yet walk this world, you shall serve as all aeldari should."

"I know this, and I have not forgotten my purpose." Acha'menid replied, "But even you cannot deny the envy you feel for the dead, how they know true happiness where we continue to face this bleak future."

Tolosai pulled his robes together that he might kneel properly upon the ground beside his pupil, "Other, lesser kinsmen would. But not I. Follow my example, Acha'menid. Death is a reward, but will be given to those most deserving. Seizing this prize by rushing into the abyss demeans the purpose set by the goddess. Isha holds all life sacred, as should we all."

The younger eldar bowed his head and considered his mentor's words carefully, "I will remember this, my master."

"See that you do." Tolosai replied, "I won't always be around to remind you should you forget."

"You are not yourself today, master." Acha'menid observed, noticing his mentor's downcast expression for the first time. "What troubles you?"

Tolosai closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the crisp morning air. "The nights bring me no sleep, but torments me with dreams filled with terror and screams."

"I too am plagued with the nightmares."Acha'menid said. "An ill omen, for sure."

"You are quite certain we share the same dream, then?" Tolosai inquired.

"I dreamed of the end, master." Acha'menid replied, " _Rhana Dandra_ , the End of Days. Our end, the price paid for the destruction of our enemies. This, you saw?"

Tolosai recalled the damnable images burned into his mind from night after night of sleeplessness, of brutal awakenings as his dreams took their physical toll on him every morning, turning him into the wreck that he was now. "Our dreams have meaning, often times never taken at their face value. No, they are the words of the gods, and must be considered carefully lest we interpret them falsely."

"The words of the gods are never sure." Acha'menid scoffed.

"Perhaps, but be glad that we receive any word at all." The eldar master reminded his pupil, "For truly it shall be a dark time indeed when the day comes that we call to the stars and hear only silence."

Acha'menid looked up to the skies of the Maiden World and saw a bright flash of light among the fading stars of the morning, "Behold, then, how the stars answer!"

Both master and student stared in wonder as a mighty construct was spat out of the abyss and hurled down to earth with the force of a dismounted comet! Larger and larger grew the flaming construct, picking up speed as the world pulled it close to its ever-welcoming embrace, until its form could be better seen by those who looked up from the ground. Tolosai and Acha'menid recognized the construct as a derelict Craftworld ark, designed to house thousands of refugee aeldari in the event of a catastrophe that threatened their Craftworld's existence. Its arrival did not bode well, for it meant that another Craftworld had fallen victim to the enemy, and its presence upon the Maiden World would surely attract unwanted attention.

The ark descended and struck the ground with such force that the earth shook and buckled under the sudden impact of a construct the size of a small celestial body. Whole mountains of stone, rock and sand were broken free and flung into the air, while clouds of dust pushed debris miles and miles over the impact zone. The land shuddered all the while the ark slid across the plains it had landed upon until it finally came to rest upon the banks of a massive lake, close to the mighty domed city of Asegai, home to Acha'menid and thousands of other Exodites.

It didn't take long for the inhabitants of the city to muster together an expeditionary force to investigate the crash-site. Acha'menid and his master volunteered to accompany the Dragon Warriors sent to the fallen ark, eager to aid their unfortunate aeldari cousins who may have survived the crash as well as to sate their curiosity about what caused the ark to fall in the first place.

They only realized later, however, the dark force responsible for such a catastrophe.

Upon approaching the vicinity of the crash-site, amidst burning debris and smoky ruins of heated rock and upturned trees, a loud groan came from within the massive vessel. Wraithbone and metal bent and broke from the weight of a heavy hand pushing through the sundered hull, revealing a glorious, glamorous being that towered above the Dragon Warriors gaping in awe at its splendor.

His skin was smooth like burnished bronze, and gleamed like the face of polished glass. The Warp bled through the giant's wounds in place of blood, and seethed visibly through his hating eyes. When he spoke, it was like the roar of a thundering monsoon, intent on washing away all who heard him. "Come out, little Senua! Your incessant attempts at low cunning like your half-kin demeans the glory of this moment!"

"That is no mere giant." Tolosai declared, brandishing his lance and readying his mount to charge. "That is a daemon, who stems directly from our greatest enemy."

"Proceed with caution then." A dragon knight acknowledged. The daemon had not noticed them yet, but this did little to make it any less of a threat to the Exodites. The Dragon Warriors spurred their mounts forward and attacked the daemon, unaware of the greater danger it posed, for this one was no mere daemon- but the Daemon Prince Fulgrim, fallen king of man and favored servant of Excess.

Favored once, now too have fallen out of favor with his patron, hence his desperation to put on a better show while Slaanesh watched from beyond the veil. His burning wrath, one he reserved for the impish half-breed that kept eluding him, now turned against the hapless Exodites. Brandishing a hateful weapon roaring with the flames of oblivion, Fulgrim fell upon the brave but foolish warriors in a bloody display of sadistic sport.

Hidden from the daemon prince, limping out of the wreck some fifty meters away from the battle, Senua helped drag her teacher's unconscious body away and into the safety of the trees. The crash had violently throttled Tamila and knocked her out. Senua saw to her injuries quickly and moved to secure her from the wreck. When they reached the trees, the young woman glanced out at the Exodites battling against the daemon prince. Her father, Liivi, nursed a broken arm and a handful of fractured ribs, but was determined to see his daughter saved from Fulgrim's wrath. He knew her heart, and how she would act when presented with the choice.

Risk herself for a small squad of dragon warriors, and possibly die at the hands of the daemon prince, or live to fight another day.

"I have to help them." Senua whispered, watching the struggle and preparing herself for battle.

Ignoring the biting agony in his side with the sudden movement of his arm, Liivi grabbed his daughter by the hand and said quietly. "Senua. Stay."

"Father, they will die if I stand by and do nothing!" Senua hissed.

"But you will live." Liivi answered, "Listen to me and help me drag the seer away while the daemon's preoccupied."

Her father would not loose his grip on her hand, and her eyes narrowed as the cries of the dying eldar reached her ears. Liivi visibly recoiled, he saw Taldeer through his child's eyes, heard her voice as she chastised him for what she saw as cowardice. "Let go of me."

"I will not!" Liivi rasped, "Your destiny lies not among the dead, and I'll be damned before I let your fate be decided by that fucking daemon!" Horrified at the thought of losing what he held most dear and all he had left, Liivi held on with all the strength he could muster, but Senua slipped free all the same. Liivi fell, snarling angrily. "Damn it, girl! Get back here!"

The pain was too much, and Liivi laid down to wrestle for air, watching on helplessly as Senua grabbed her sword and fearlessly charged after the daemon. "Damn your stubbornness, my love!" He gasped, cursing all the foolish things his daughter took after her mother.

As he laid there, gasping for breath, Liivi's eye caught movement in the brush next to him. The dark-clad forms of aeldari warriors, slowly revealed by the light of the morning, emerged from the forest. Liivi stared, hope growing in his heart, as he realized that these were Eldar Dark Reapers, and led by none other than the Harvester of Souls himself- Maugan Ra.

If he was here personally, it meant he was hunting Fulgrim.

"Death has come for the daemon prince." Liivi whispered.

The piercing gaze of the Phoenix Lord met the Vindicare's own, "Indeed." Intent on accomplishing their intended task, the Reapers ignored the human and stepped over him and the still form of the Farseer Tamila.

The Reapers had arrived on the Maiden World weeks before the crash, guided by the portents of their seers to put a stop to a possible future that could mean the destruction of the Maiden World itself and summon a Warp storm that could very well threaten all other Exodite worlds hidden in the same sector. Maugan Ra accepted the task personally, his reasons known only to himself and his small circle of confidants. The Exodites, of course, had no knowledge of their presence upon the Maiden World, and their arrival on the battleground came as a surprise.

Maugan Ra paused for a moment to watch as the half-breed fought alone against the daemon prince, amidst the fallen and slain dragon warriors who stood little to no chance against Fulgrim. He had heard of someone banishing the daemon prince to the Warp in the Flight of Calmainoc, though he never imagined it would be from the hands of a young one tainted with the blood of a human. He believed the tales now, watching the young one duel against the powers of the Empyrean and wielding the warp in the palm of her hand with such ease. She, of course, would never last long against Fulgrim alone, unless the Reapers intervened.

"Interesting." He whispered, then let loose a torrent of mono-molecular blasts from the terrible scythe-cannon known as _Maugetar_.

Senua cried out in surprise as the torrent narrowly missed her and struck Fulgrim in the face. The young woman dove down instinctively to allow the Reapers to continue their bloody work. Surrounding the already grievously wounded daemon-primarch, the Reapers unleashed volley after volley in rapid succession, intent on reducing the daemon's mortal form into a fine red paste. Enraged and fueled by the pain, Fulgrim forgot his quarry and vanished in a cloud of violet smoke, cackling madly as he fled into the Warp. He would return some time in the future, but for now would lick his wounds and dress his shattered pride, again.

The Maiden World's future was secured.

Maugan Ra looked down at the surviving dragon warriors and found all but two had survived the daemon's onslaught. Master Tolosai and one other knight beheld their great fortune, and mourned the tragic fate that befell their kin who were not as blessed as they. Tolosai, especially, grieved the loss of his pupil, who was the first to die at the hands of Fulgrim. Young Acha'menid achieved what he coveted most.

The Phoenix Lord approached Senua, who rose up from where she fell and dusted off her muddied robes. He regarded her curiously, "How did a half-breed like you rise to such prominence?" Maugan Ra was testing her in the common manner any aeldari would test someone, and fortunately for Senua, she was raised with thick skin and did not take offense so easily. She smiled humorlessly and did not answer.

The Dark Reaper found little amusement in her reply and growled, "Find your tongue, girl, for you stand before a Phoenix Lord."

Again, she ignored him and moved to help the dragon warriors she had saved from the daemon-primarch. Tolosai bowed his head respectfully and thanked her, a rare thing for any aeldari to show especially to a half-breed, that which equates their society's pariah. "We owe you our lives, my lady, for intervening on our behalf." He turned to the Reapers and gave them their due measure of gratitude. "And to you, my lords. Thank you for vanquishing the daemon."

"Ask of us what we might do to repay this debt." The other knight said to Senua.

"My teacher and father have been injured in the crash." The half-breed was quick to reply, "Aiding in their transportation to a medical facility would be much appreciated."

"It shall be so." Tolosai bowed again, preparing the one spare mount to hoist up the injured refugees of Ulthwe to bring with them to Asegai. He turned to begin their departure by first bading farewell to the Reapers, "My lords, may the Goddess Isha preserve you. Farewell, we take our leave."

The Reapers offered no gesture nor word of affirmation, customarily answering only with silent stares as the little group rode for the domed city. Maugan Ra met Senua's mocking gaze for the last time and seethed. A curious little thing indeed. Though she irked him, she was inconsequential. They had gotten what they came for, the planet was safe. But Maugan Ra made a mental note to keep an eye on the half-breed, not only because her capabilities intrigued him but because of the apparent interest the daemon prince held for her.

* * *

 _The lake was so vast, its shorelines faded to nothing in the distance. The only other land to be seen was a smattering of pale islands, connected to each other by a network of bridges._

 _The finest wine served as water in this lake but no cups waited to be filled. The bouquet of the wine was strong, pleasant, and enticing. Most visitors took very little time before they gave up on the idea of cups and fell to their knees to drink directly from the lake. Heads swam with delightful intoxication, many continued to drink until they slipped into the waters and sank below the surface, never to be seen again._

 _Those who were able to lift their heads from the wine cast their gaze more closely on the islands and see them for what they are - hunched giants holding aloft great tables heaped with extravagant feasts. Exotic fruits, rich breads, and meats of every kind were present._

 _Swimming to these islands was perilous, and many whose senses have become wine-addled sank beneath the waves, joining the countless others who have slipped beneath the carmine liquid. For the ones that made it, the reward was astonishing._

 _Each bite was better than the finest meal they have ever experienced. Each morsel was a decadent delight for the tongue. Faster and faster the wayward consumed the food. All around her, voracious eaters forced handful after handful down their throats. In their blind need to consume, they did not notice that some of the meat came from carcasses with an all-too-familiar form._

 _Even if they were to somehow stop forcing food into their own stomachs long enough to recognize the fate that awaited them, none could stop. Given completely over to gluttonous indulgence, they only stopped eating when their body finally fails, collapsing into the feast and awaiting the next hungry diner._

 _Aggregia recoiled in horror at the sinful decadence she was forced to watch, unable to run as she seemed to be glued to the ground like a statue. A powerful presence radiated beside her like the warmth of a burning flame, and the young woman looked up to see the same visitor of her dreams stand by her like a watchful guardian._

 _She didn't like it here, for it reeked of something evil, the likes of which Aggregia could not fathom._

 _"Haven't I told you to be careful where you tread?" The red giant asked quietly._

 _"Can one control where one's dreams take them?" Aggregia sighed._

 _"Incorrect." The giant replied, "The blood of a god flows through your veins, and the realm of dreams answers to your beckoning. You only have to say the words, and reality will shift to your will."_

 _The once beautiful land shattered like the face of a mirror, revealing the ugliness beneath it all. Aggregia did not recoil at this, for she had always known the darkness lurking beneath the false beauty. She turned to the giant, "I want to leave this place."_

 _"It will keep pulling you back unless you tell it otherwise." His single glowing eye shone like a lantern in the night, "Words hold power, this is your gift. The universe listens, and only waits to be commanded."_

 _Aggregia looked up at him thoughtfully and spoke in a voice she'd never heard speak from her mouth, "Bring me back."_

* * *

Horus looked up curiously as a shaft of lightning tore its way through the sky, brightening up the dark clouds heavy with unprecedented rain. The storm battered hard against the countryside, with such speed that bordered on the unnatural. The party had fallen asleep through the troubled night, the storm arrived not long after. The peal of thunder was deafening, but not enough to mask the mutterings of his daughter as she tossed and turned in her corner.

When she suddenly sat up, jarred awake by some fevered dream, the faint patter of rainfall ceased, and the darkened skies suddenly parted to let the morning rays shine upon the land.

Horus gave his daughter an incredulous look and spoke softly in concern. "Are you alright, my dear?"

Aggregia glanced around, confused for a moment, before answering dismissively.

"Yeah." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yeah, I'm alright."

 **}!{**


	26. Engine of Woes

**A/N**

 **Another update? Yes, that's one good thing to come out of being cooped up at home.**

 **After much consideration, and several ideas presented to me by fellow fans of the W40k universe, I've decided on a new arc for the Crimson King. While there is definitely room for redemption ( Magnus did a lot of wrong, take that you Thousand Sons fans jk ) I do believe some twists should be in order to keep the Grimdark theme alive.**

 **But first, I believe it's time another beloved figure emerged from the sidelines.**

 **Enjoy!**

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The _Murder Bunker_ ground to a halt, unleashing a cloud of thick black smoke from its exhaust, indicating a fire had ignited within the tank's ancient primary core. Power was rerouted from the auxiliaries while repairs were initiated so that the tank would be far from defenseless while the engine-seer did his work. Commander Dawn Coal, while waiting for Corligne to appease the petulant machine-spirits, spent the hour looking through the periscope for potential threats. It didn't take long for the commander to spot a sizable Chaos warband, most likely the same ones that destroyed the company they fought alongside with in the wasted plains.

"Enemy sighted." Coal announced, "Looks like they've seen us too."

"I hear you, Topside." Gunner Yosemite Slake grunted, pushing on a lever to bring his seat up to the gunners compartment so he could take control of the main cannon. He motioned for the loader, Garth McCain to assume the bow-gunner position, which lacked an operator since the battle of the wasted plains. "Garth, get up here."

"I see some berzerkers in that formation, watch out." Coal reported, "Don't let them get close this time, a'ight?"

"Yeah yeah." Garth grunted, sitting himself down on the scratched and torn chair still stained with the blood of the former bow-gunner and pushed himself forward so his head would fit in with the targeting sights. His eyes adjusted to the flare of the grainy green screen, his mind taking in the numbers and calculations pouring in. There was little time for him to make corrections, for the traitor astartes were already making a beeline for the tank. Once he had them in range, Garth unloaded the twin Vulcan mega-bolters in short, steady bursts.

The entire tank vibrated as the massive rotary cannons roared to life, the faint tinkle of spent casings rattling above the bulkheads sounding in between bursts, only to be drowned out by the thunderous bellow of the _Murder Bunker's_ primary weapon. The first hail of titan-caliber rounds passed harmlessly across the field, missing the charging death-bikes by several meters.

"Firing for effect." Garth reported once the desired adjustment had been made. He didn't miss this time, and the next hail tore up the bikes and their riders into piles of flaming scrap and red mist.

A loud scraping noise reverberated across the gunner's compartment as Slake discarded the spent shell casing and pulled on a small yellow lever to let the next shell slide into place. He then shut the breech over the shell and prepared to fire. His performance suffered in the slightest due to them having a man short, but Slake found little reason to complain at the moment. He preferred getting the job done by himself, and there was no time to show his misgivings at their misfortune.

"Seer, now would be a good time to get us up and running." Coal said, watching warily as the armored giants in the distance swiftly closed the gap between them with the speed that only befit the astartes. To the replacement bow-gunner, he called out. "Garth, you'd better watch our left! They're moving to flank!"

"I see them." Another whirl of death, and the charging heretics were no more. The _Murder Bunker_ had one advantage over the warband, and that was its positioning prior to its engine breaking down. Facing with its frontal glacis directly at the enemy, with its many weapons capable of swiveling to every angle, the tank was a wall of destruction. However, this would have worked well in a different scenario if the mission required the crew to hold the line.

Cut off from the rest of the regiment and armoured division, with a growing lack of ammunition and an uncooperative engine, the _Murder Bunker_ could well be their tomb.

* * *

Elarique Swiftblade, seeing how quickly the berzerkers leaped at the chance of slaughter, commanded her forces to seize the moment and slip into the caverns undetected, remaining close to the heels of the sorcerer Ygethmor and his band of fiends from the broken Iron Warriors Legion. She knew little of what her enemy planned to do on Aksinar IV, yet the great pains he took to unearthing the ancient maze told of a powerful artifact the sorcerer planned to use in the name of Chaos- reason enough for her to disrupt his plans, and if she was lucky, cut the snake's head off and rid the galaxy of another fiendish sorcerer.

As half of the warband's forces engaged the powerful battle-tank outside, Elarique and her rangers snuck deep into the unearthed tunnels leading deep into the heart of Aksinar IV. Ygethmor was hasty in his procession into the prize that lay at the end of the maze, and in so doing summoned all manner of terrifying creatures bent on preventing intruders from breaching the sanctity of the tomb- curiously all man-made. Automatons bound by bodies of alien metal and burning with artificial fire, crafted by the hands of some long forgotten god, sprung free from the shadows and tore apart many of the heretic astartes while an uncaring Ygethmor kept pushing onwards in spite of the dangers cleaving through his entourage.

Elarique resisted the urge to sneer at the sorcerer's apparent foolishness, for in his haste, he was chipping away at his much needed escort and leaving himself vulnerable to Elarique's killing blow. The sorcerer was still a threat to be taken seriously, with or without his escort.

Vrakkar Mournseeker, the warband's leader who chose to accompany Ygethmor, had predictably reached the end of his patience. After the last of his finest warriors fell to the claws of a great mechanical beast, Mournseeker turned his weapons against the sorcerer, venting his rage upon him with murderous intent. Ygethmor expected this turn of events, having peered into the future numerous times since his arrival on Aksinar IV, and stirred all his hands could corrupt to purpose.

Anres, Mournseeker's second-in-command, unveiled his treacherous nature and struck down his master. His blade descended, slicing off Vrakkar's head from its shoulders and robbing the warlord of his life. Anres stood over the corpse and picked up Mournseeker's heavy greatmace, claiming his place as leader of the Iron Warriors- what was left of them anyway.

"Behold." Anres sighed, referring to himself. "The master of a broken brotherhood."

"You will become strong again, when we've taken what we came for." Ygethmor promised, "You've chosen wisely in siding with me, which is more than I can say for your predecessor."

"You promise much, sorcerer." Elarique said, emerging from the shadows with her twin blades drawn. "Too much."

"Now, you will prove your worth to hold that title." Ygethmor told Anres, raising his hands to cast a mighty spell. The new warlord stared in disbelief as the sorcerer closed the corridor over with a runic barrier, barring entry into the vault holding Vulkan's artifact and separating himself from Anres, who now stood alone against the Alaitoc Rangers and Swiftblade.

Anres gripped tightly onto Mournseeker's pilfered weapon and glared at the sorcerer, "True to your nature, I see."

Ygethmor eyed him with disdain, "Mistake my actions not for cowardice, young lord. I hold true to my words. Survive this day and I will indeed grant you power beyond your narrow mind can possibly imagine." He turned away to proceed further down the forgotten halls of antiquity, "Now, fight."

The Iron Warrior frowned, facing the Rangers with the heavy mace poised to strike. "Come then, xenos! Meet your death!"

* * *

The protective hull strained and groaned as massive hands possessed with superhuman and daemonic strength ripped open the sealed hatches. Garth was the first to be yanked out of his compartment, screaming vehemently as he discharged his laspistol at the giant pulling him free from his seat. The heretic didn't even bother cleaving him in two, instead tossing him to the daemonic flesh-hounds yipping excitedly for their meal.

Slake didn't wait for the Chaos spacemarines to force him out, choosing instead to take the fight to the heretics howling for his blood. He watched in horror as Garth was torn apart by the hounds below, his gurgled screams marring his psyche. That horror was soon replaced by grim acceptance as the eclipsing figure of the berzerker loomed over him.

"Fuck your gods, traitor!" Slake growled fearlessly, hurtling himself out of the tank and diving for the exposed grenade hanging at the berzerker's belt. No weapon on hand could kill a frenzied berzerker, but in that instance, Slake knew even a krak grenade could seriously injure even an Ork Nob. His death, while certain, could at the very least cost the enemy dearly.

Slake screamed in agony as the giant's chainaxe chewed on his back, the whirring teeth biting down on his spine and fracturing it in two upon impact. As he fell, his hand reached out in desperation, fingers hooking on to the safety pin. His weight was enough to pull it out and prime the grenade. Even as the chainaxe ripped the gunner in two, Slake forced out a choked, gurgled laugh.

With a loud bang, the grenade detonated, killing both the gunner and his assailant in one blast.

Inside the tank, Corligne sat immobile at his place next to the smoking engine, eyes closed and mind focused on praying. The machine-spirit drove a hard bargain, it would seem that it required the deaths of all its occupants before giving life to its engine. Deliverance was not for them, and the enginseer accepted this as a fact. "It is too late, Commander."

"You realize this now?" Coal groaned, sliding down beside the enginseer.

A two inch safety hatch was all that stood between them and their killers. Commander Coal's eyes met the enginseer and he lamented, "Would that we have perished alongside our fellow guardsmen on the wasted plains. For shame...an ignoble end, to be offered up like a sacrifice to their dark gods."

Corligne looked down at the stubborn engine, listening to the horrid vox-grill cries of the murderous spacemarines outside. He pondered on his commander's words and reached into the core to unhook it from its place, twisting several influx tubes and inhibitors to force the core into an overload. The engine still would not come to life, but the core was reaching critical mass in a matter of seconds. The enginseer knew the volatile nature of the device he held now, but he cared little for it, as he was now resigned to his end one way or another.

"Shall we deny them that satisfaction then, sir?" Corligne said.

"Eh, why not?" Coal shrugged, lighting his last cigar for the last time. "Just give me a second."

* * *

Anres roared in pain as he fell to his knees, the crippling pain in his lower back proving too much for even the tenacious warrior to handle. His power-armor's core pack had been torn off, leaving his suit empty and heavy. Swiftblade lived up to her name, always keeping out of reach, but always hitting the traitor astartes where it hurt. In this battle, Mournseeker's greatmace was Anres' flaw in his defensive strategy. Though he managed to slay every single one of Elarique's entourage of Rangers, the autarch never received even a scratch herself.

In the end, his reign was short-lived, and his stolen crown forfeited.

Elarique Swiftblade's sword pierced the back of his head and pushed through his mouth, forcing the warrior to spit out a torrent of black blood before sliding free from the sharp blade and collapsing to the dirt.

Without even taking a moment to savor her victory, Elarique raised her bloodied sword and thrusted it against the psychic barrier preventing her from entering the remainder of the long and ancient tunnel. Ygethmor's spell was weaker than most he had in store, but it was strong enough to prove unyielding to even the potent counter-spells of the aeldari's weapons.

Swiftblade frowned, took pause to let logic rule her actions instead of passion, then looked at the dirt walls that encapsulated the tunnel. She looked at the shimmering barrier, then back at the dirt walls. In this, she found her answer to the riddle.

With a gesture of her hand, she opened a portal that acted as a bypass to the barrier, its entrance tunneling through the dirt wall and into the opposite side of the psychic barrier. "Crafty, sorcerer, but low cunning had been mastered by my people long before you have." She resumed the chase, ignoring the guardians who had survived the sorcerer's onslaught as he proceeded further and further down the halls, and finally reached Ygethmor beyond the sundered doors of the vault.

There, she beheld the wondrous work of human hands, built to honor the demigod Vulkan in a civilization long dead. Their only memory lay in the artifact sitting in the middle of the ringed chamber of bright gold and blackest onyx, where massive marble statues of titans knelt prostrated, hands protectively encasing the hidden artifact beneath their fingers. Surrounding the chamber stood eighteen ebony torches, symbolizing the Salamanders' legion designated number.

Ygethmor eyed the relentless autarch with annoyance and turned away from his ministrations to face his foe directly. "I tire of this chase, interloper."

"As do I." Swiftblade growled, approaching the sorcerer as she ascended the steps separating the outer ring of the chamber to the middle ring, which stood precariously atop marble titans dramatically holding up the round slab of onyx like the forgotten titan who once held up the skies of Terra.

Ygethmor uttered a spiteful curse, slowing time around Swiftblade to a crawl, then raised his hand to unleash the Engine of Woes sitting beneath the hands of the marble titans. His actions, however, were not without consequence. The marble titans themselves were guardians of Vulkan's artifact, and opened their gleaming hateful eyes as they realized something was amiss.

The sorcerer recoiled in surprise as the giants, without removing their hands from the artifact, turned their gaze against the hated foe. Their mouths hung agape and with their breath they bathed him in divine fire.

Ygethmor staggered back, striking in turn with a blast from his staff that tore one of the titans' heads clean off from its shoulders. The flames ate at his armor and burned deep into his warped flesh, wounding the sorcerer critically. He cried out, immediately turning around to see Elarique leap free from the cursed space and strike at him while he remained open.

The torches, which up till now stood cold, suddenly sparked and flared to life. As the battle between the sorcerer and the autarch raged in earnest, the titans slowly removed their hands, revealing the golden sarcophagus that lay in the center of the chamber- the Engine of Woes. As though powered by the fire burning in the hearts of the two dueling in that forgotten vault, the sarcophagus slid open, unleashing a blazing pillar of fire that soon enveloped the room, threatening to reduce all that lay within to ash.

Undeterred by the blistering heat and white-hot conflagration of the Engine so zealously sought after by the sorcerer, Elarique fought on, ignoring with all her will the wounds opening up in her arms and face as the unnatural flames indiscriminately ate at her and Ygethmor.

"You die today!" She screamed above the roar of the fires burning around them.

Suddenly, a hand scorched black as night reached out and grasped the sorcerer from behind. Ygethmor swiveled about to meet the challenge of his new foe, but stood frozen in disbelief as a figure far more ancient than he was and possessing the raging fires of a newborn sun met his gaze. Seized with a foreign feeling he had not felt since becoming one of the Black Legion, Ygethmor trembled and dropped his staff.

The towering figure held him by the throat and plunged his fingers into the sorcerer's eyes, before unleashing another deadly corona of flame that throttled Elarique across the room and sending her slamming painfully face-first into the wall. Ygethmor's cries were drowned out as the fire burned him into ash, releasing another blast of energy that shook the chamber down to its foundations, bringing the mountain down upon the vault and the dragon reborn.

Vulkan stared, unmoving, as the crumbling bits of earth fell around him.

The Primarch's naked form moved across the fractured vault, his careful hands reaching out to pick up the fallen autarch, before ascending the tunnel and into the light of the world outside.

 **}!{**

 **THROUGH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP! XD**


	27. Honorless Xeno

**}!{**

Sanguinius gazed out into the woods, alerted by the unnerving feeling in his gut that something evil was shadowing their party. Possibly, and he hoped, the same evil they were hunting.

"From where do you hail, noble Sanguinius, that you have been blessed with the wings of a god?"

The young angel smirked, looking down at the much smaller woman who addressed him so. They had walked quite a way since the turbulent night in the cave, and Sanguinius then basked in the attention of the lesser men, particularly the fetching mecha-warrior Commander Vestra. "I was not born of this world, if that is what you ask of me. But I grew up here, so I call it my home."

"What prompted you to undertake this task?" Vestra inquired, curious that such a lowly errand would require the attention of the demigod.

Sanguinius' smirk disappeared, replaced by a disgusted sneer as he turned his gaze to look at his father. "There are some who do not possess your well-placed awe, reason enough for one to fight hard to prove what already has been proven." He avoided Horus' eyes when the patriarch met his own, "Alas, such is the fate of a son whose own father doubts his strength. No matter, I shall wrest away such doubts soon enough."

"You speak as though the quarry is already yours." His sister remarked disapprovingly, "I do not see the creature's head in your hands."

"Then you too shall know shame for doubting your brother, dearest Gia." Sanguinius replied. When they had reached a fork in the road, he looked both ways before deciding upon some mad strategy that only bravado could ever beget. "Enough. I tire of these damned marchings. I shall take to the skies and see what the land has for us."

With a loud whoosh, the angel unfurled his wings and took flight. Vestra and the others looked up after him with amazement, while Aggregia rolled her eyes and their father shook his head.

"What's the story with that one?" Borinn, the mighty dwarf, asked Horus.

"Not a very observant one, are you?" Horus answered.

"Words laced with spite hardly tell the whole story." Borinn retorted, "Out with it, tall one."

"Beyond that which concerns you, you shall not have." Horus said, remaining tight-lipped about his family's personal affairs. The dwarf frowned and crossed his arms, clearly offended by his abrupt refusal.

Sanguinius returned to the earth with one graceful landing, pausing to brush off the dust on his arms before sharing what he had seen from above. "No sign of danger from all around. But I caught sight of the monster's trail, and its latest victims."

"Where?" Horus asked, urging his son to lead the way.

The party trekked past the forest to the edge of a grand canyon, where a chasm of grey rock and shale represented the bed of a long dead river. A lonely cottage sat at the clearing just outside the forest, sitting at the foot of a dying tree yielding its dried leaves to the wind as it blew past its aged branches. When the party reached the cottage, they were greeted with a most horrifying sight.

"Gods above!" Vestra gasped.

A fairly middle-aged farmer knelt upon the dirt, impaled in place by a wooden beam shoved violently down his throat. Eyes grey with death stared out unseeing, and his blood reeked its coppery stench as it bled fresh from his wounds. His sons lay stretched out around him in an eight pointed star, their torn limbs serving each dark patron twice over. Worse still was the fate of his wife, whose untold suffering broke even the composure of the Primarch.

She hung there, at the cottage door, bolted down by nails the size of short knives. Her stomach had been carved open, her intestines spread out evenly to match the eight pointed star her husband and children adorned. With the way she moaned quietly, they knew the life had not left her yet.

"This is no ordinary horror." Borinn growled, "I smell the work of demons."

Aggregia approached the dying woman, offering what little comfort she had for her. She didn't flinch when the woman's face rose up to meet her gaze, finding empty sockets where her eyes had been gouged out.

Aggregia closed her eyes and felt the woman's thoughts howl out through her own. She saw the terrible being that wrought this destruction upon the farmer and his family, through the memories that soon after flooded her mind. Then, she saw the visions. Visions of blood, pain and death. Ill omens of the very near future.

With a terrifying screech, Aggregia put one hand to her head as the sudden rush of maddening imagery seized her with a crippling pain. "Father! Behind us!"

An ear-splitting howl followed as the giant, who up until then had managed to emerge from the shadows unseen, flung himself forward and attacked the party. His claws, still fresh with the blood of the slain innocents, shot out with an unearthly sheen. Lightning coarsed through the shafts, and the monstrous skulls that adorned his gauntlets glared red, still eager to drink more of its fill of blood.

Borinn was the first to die. The look of surprise remained plastered to his face as the claws cut through his neck, chest and abdomen. The pieces fell with a loud, sloppy clap on the dirt.

Without even slowing down for a second, the giant dove for his next victim. But Horus was faster, and his great-mace slammed hard against his would-be killer with a force that could level the hills. The giant landed some fifteen meters away, coming to a stop when his back hit the tree next to the house.

His recovery was surprisingly swift, and he got to his feet, shaking off the crippling strike of the Primarch with the tenacity of one blessed by the Dark Gods.

Horus' eyes widened as he recognized the ancient yet familiar armor of the Eighth Legion. "A Night Lord? Ah, now it all makes sense." He turned to warn Sanguinius just as the angel prepared to engage in the melee. "Caution, my son! This one may prove more than you can handle!"

"I accept your challenge." Sanguinius said with a grin.

The heretic astartes recoiled as if the mere presence of the demigod offended him. His head shook violently, and his hands trembled with the powerful surge of energies that suddenly overwhelmed him. "You reek of the false god!"

"Then behold a true god, monster." Sanguinius returned, flapping his wings to gain the height advantage before diving down hard to throttle the Night Lord through the dying tree and down into the chasm below. The tree uttered a loud groan, snapping into two clean halves as the titans tore through its trunk. Sanguinius plummeted with the astartes in his grasp, breaking free at the last second and kicking him off that he might plunge to the earth alone.

The Night Lord, possessing the experience of untold centuries of combat, immediately recovered in mid-air and twisted about so that his feet might meet the earth.

Sanguinius tilted his head to the side in amazement as he hovered above the canyon, his smile grew as he realized he was about to get the fight that befitted his strength, and the glory that came in overcoming it.

The Night Lord grunted in frustration, pausing to retract his claws so he might turn to pluck a massive boulder from the rock-face. He then hurled the boulder at the angel, missing his mark as Sanguinius dove again to meet him on solid ground.

Armed with only the master-crafted gauntlets stolen from his Custodes guardian Arther, Sanguinius drew his right hand back and struck the heretic astartes in the face. Propelled with the momentum of his dive, and with the strength of the Emperor's grandson, Sanguinius shattered the thick ceramite plating on the Night Lord's helm and threw him back against the canyon wall.

The entire canyon shook with the demigods' blows, and the remaining party quickly descended for fear of getting caught in a landslide.

"Does he even need our help?" Vestra asked, watching the exchange from a safe distance. Her feline companion shared her awe as it stared dumbfounded at the unearthly powers battling in the chasm.

"Only to remind him that this endeavor is not for glory alone." Aggregia answered, now recovered from the psychic visions she had earlier. Horus had taken notice of this for the first time, but made a mental note to check up on her later, choosing instead to focus on helping his arrogant son learn a good lesson from this experience.

"Wait." Horus said to his daughter, "Sometimes, humility can only flourish in the face of adversity. If we intervene at the moment he clearly has everything under control, he will only despise us, and the fraying thread tying us together will be severed."

"The way I see it, letting him claim the glory will only fatten up his pride." Aggregia scoffed. "We should stamp out his arrogant spirit at every chance we get!"

"And that is why you are his sister, and I the father." Horus chided his daughter gently, reminding her that his mind was set. Sanguinius still listened to him, and while he still did, he would not allow that to be jeopardized. "If he overcomes this, then give credit where it is due. There will be other trials in the future."

"Fine." Aggregia relented with a dark scowl.

Sanguinius turned to look at his companions and threw up his hands in disbelief, "Well? Are you going to let me have all the fun?"

Aggregia threw her father a sidewards glance, "I think you have this all well and handled."

"True, but a battle's fire is warmer with company." The angel shrugged, then offering Vestra a moment to shine with him. "Commander? Care to show me what the Watchers' Guild is all about?"

Vestra smirked, readying her weapon as she approached the fallen champion of Chaos. Her axe hummed with the energies of its core, as did her armor. The Night Lord did not accept his death so easily, however, and put his feet back under him. He then lunged for the Watcher, beaten and wounded but still full of life, and missed his mark.

For such a crude jumble of gear, piston and wire, her power-armor was quite effective. She was not as quick as the demigod, but she was quick enough to avoid death borne at the claws of the Night Lord.

And strong. She was strong enough to raise the axe, bring it down, and cleave through the monster's skull.

Momentum throttled the heretic's body across space, and he soon came to rest upon the cracked, dried earth. The Watcher's axe remained buried deep in his head, and unsurprisingly, he remained alive despite what would have been a fatal wound.

He put his hands against the earth, defying death with all he had, and pushed himself to crawl on all fours.

His words were slow. Every breath spent to bite out the blasphemous mantra, "Blood...for the Blood...God." He raised his head, adorned with a crimson crown running in streams across his ruined face.

Vestra grimaced, then viciously retrieved her weapon from the monster's head. She turned to Sanguinius and beckoned him to approach, "He's all yours."

The angel nodded, clapping his hands over the Night Lord's ears. The heretic, even then, forced out his final words to glorify his dark patron. "Skulls...for the Skull Throne."

With a loud crack, followed by a gruesome squelch, his head burst apart. Blood and brains spilled out, caking Sanguinius' fingers and chest with ichor. The angel let the twitching corpse to the ground, and raised his gaze to meet his father.

"Satisfied?"

Horus' expression was hard to read, and it frustrated his son to no end.

His face grew hard as stone. He resolved himself to this. His home held nothing for him but restraints, pain, and rejection.

"His carcass does not deserve a proper burial." The priest spoke up when all were silent. "We should burn it, let the demons of hell have their lost kin."

"That is ceramite, though twisted by the hands of the Warp." Horus said, referring to the armor. "No mere fire can turn it to ash, no earth heavy enough to keep it buried."

"I know the perfect place that can outdo both." Sanguinius said, still glaring at his father and sister. He bent down, seizing the corpse by the pauldrons, and raised himself above the heights of Y'ttetia, heading for the lone volcano sitting in the middle of some far-off sea. The timing was perfect, for the volcano had opened its heart to the world, pouring out its burning red blood onto the sea, eager to give life to a new land.

"Back to hell with you." Sanguinius murmured, tossing the corpse onto the gaping maw of the volcano and flying back to the mainland.

* * *

In the late noon, the light had begun its slow fade into dimness, then giving way to the encroaching darkness.

Celestine moved away from the windows of her bedchamber, unable to find rest with the absence of her husband at her side. She got up, dressed herself in her favorite white toga, and moved downstairs to visit the shrine dedicated to the God-Emperor erected in the family courtyard.

The shrine was home to a simple stone statue of the Emperor, weathered down slightly by the elements and by age, yet meticulously kept tidy by the Saint. What felt like a lifetime ago, she would come with the children to pray and meditate in this place. Her intentions were good, but her efforts in teaching the twins of reverence, piety and holiness largely resulted in disaster.

Celestine missed those days when the childlike innocence of her little Gia and Sangy brought warmth to her heart, feeling only sorrow for how quickly the times had changed.

Heaving a weary sigh, Celestine knelt before the crude effigy of her maker and prayed.

"My Lord, your daughter asks for guidance. My days grow dark, and I weary of the struggles of motherhood. Truly, I am more fit to guide my sisters in battle than to raise children, yet this is the task you have set before me and my beloved. My son, Sanguinius, refuses to heed my corrections. His pride keeps instruction at bay, and his insistence on this independence undermines all my husband's efforts to bring him back to the fold. I pray for strength, I pray for temperance...for I have neither."

 _"And you shall have it, my daughter..."_

Celestine closed her eyes and smiled upon hearing the still, small voice. "Ah, my Emperor...your words indeed grant me strength."

 _"You say my grandson is arrogant. Indeed, the apple does not fall far from the tree."_

"A fall is what I fear for him the most, for pride invites the attention of the enemy." Celestine replied, "My son is not ready."

 _"He will be, Celestine. I ordain it so. The darkness you fear would come for your children will still come. But even then as they suffer, they will rise stronger than before. Remember, humility cannot blossom in the absence of adversity. This, life has taught my son Horus. This too shall life teach your son."_

A noise coming from inside the house interrupted Celestine's communion with her god. The Saint rose up, "Pardon me, my god. I must see what is amiss."

She turned away to venture back inside. There, she discovered the sprawled bodies of the family's servant-girls. Their throats had been slit, and their blood now gathered in thick red pools about the floor. Whoever intruded in her home, they were masters of their craft to elude the attention of the Saint and her guardians.

"Arther! To me!" Celestine called, now fearing the worst when no answer came.

The sounds of a struggle further into the compound caused the Saint to rush blindly into the living quarters, where she found one Custodes murdered upon the stairs leading to the bedchamber- where Horus kept his weapon Soulrender hidden beneath a hollow box beside their bed.

"Arther!" Celestine gritted her teeth in anger, calling for her blade to form. "Answer me, damn you!"

With a flash, her Ardent Blade answered the call and materialized in her hands. The threat was gravely serious, for there were a scant few that could slay a Custodes, even the least of them. She ascended the staircase, went past the still corpse of the guardian of her home, and boldly entered the room.

Her eyes took in the ransacked bedchamber, the overturned hollow box, the empty trapdoor where Soulrender once rested, and then to the thief that now held the hallowed weapon.

"Alien." The Saint's eyes blazed with the fires of hell as she beheld the aeldari intruder. Celestine had never seen the blood-red armor before, is she had she would have realized that this intrusion was betrayal. She cared only that a filthy xeno breached the sanctity of her home, slaughtered her handmaidens and guardian, and now moved to make off with her husband's cherished weapon. She raised her blade, preparing for battle. "That weapon does not belong to you."

"It does now." The eldar attached the spear to her back and flung herself backwards into the open window.

A violent crash followed as the Saint tore through the wall and dove after the fleeing eldar. As stone, plaster and chalk gave way, Celestine saw Arther engaged in combat with shades. Aeldari malice made manifest, called from the Warp like daemons, the shades took the form of their aeldari summoners but retained none of their mortality.

Arther's spear, as well as all weapons wielded by his fellow Custodes, mattered little as they passed harmlessly through the mist-like forms of the shades. It was like fighting the waves of an angry ocean. No blade of steel could harm its waters, but they were nonetheless powerful.

Celestine chose to pursue the fleeing thief, leaving Arther and the Custodes to deal with the spirits. In the moment she paused to watch the guardians do battle, she had lost sight of the thief, much to her annoyance.

Then, the sound of an engine humming to life reached her ears. A sleek aeldari wraithfighter slowly rose up from the woods below and picked up speed as it ascended to the skies. Celestine followed, but found to her frustration that she was lagging behind. For all her swiftness, the aeldari have mastered it first, as evident with their simplest of aircrafts.

As the wraithfighter gained distance and gradually shrank from sight, Celestine raised her sword. And in a moment of desperation, she hurled her weapon after the screaming alien craft.

The sword spun in the air, cutting the wraithfighter at the wing and sending it spiraling out of control. The engine erupted in flames, leaving a trail of smoke and burning debris as the wraithfighter began its quick descent into the valley below.

Celestine flew over to the crash-site where the wraithfighter came to rest and landed above the burning craft. Angrily, she seized the mangled wraithbone and tore the hatch free to reveal an empty cockpit.

Confused, Celestine took a step back and surveyed the crash-site. Her first thought was that the occupants escaped on foot, masked under an alien cloaking device that the aeldari were reputed to use, otherwise she would have caught sight of them if they attempted to flee.

Then, a faint rumble of a larger ship in the distance caught her attention. The Saint turned her gaze back to her home some two kilometers away, and saw an aeldari ship take off, quickly disappearing past the clouds and into the void of space. She realized she had been duped by the most basic tactic known in warfare.

Misdirection.

 **}!{**


	28. Brighter Days

**}!{**

Horus had seen both sides of the Warp, and knew all too well the powers that transcended mortal comprehension.

One, benevolent and life-giving. The other, ravenous, destructive and evil. Many had tried to best the chaotic nature of the Warp, and many failed. In another life, the very powers of the Ruinous Pantheon once coursed through his veins, imbuing him with the might of a billion sacrificed civilizations. Although, for all his might he had become a pawn in their game. Absolute power, as always, corrupted absolutely. He had fallen, and paid dearly for it. Redemption from his folly cost him even more.

His beloved daughter would not fall to the foul promises of Chaos, not while he drew breath.

Horus, with all the experience he garnered over his long life, was not wholeheartedly a practitioner in the psychic arts but knew enough to become an expert in that controversial study. He had already witnessed the signs of Aggregia's latent powers in the past, and truly wished for her to realize her potential for using these powers for the good of mankind. However, his attempts at training her with what he knew were stalled as he endeavored to put his wayward son on a proper path.

The challenges of good parenting were greater than he thought, as Horus very soon found out. Like his father, he was tempted to abandon the work of raising his children altogether and return to his place fighting in the front lines against the enemies of the Imperium. Such temptation was easily disregarded as the Primarch valued his children's future more than his own.

Another day had passed, Sanguinius still had not returned. Having accomplished their quest, the adventurers buried their fallen friend and bade their companions farewell. Horus and Aggregia made their way back home, choosing not to wait for Sanguinius as they knew the youth would make his own path. The Primarch dreaded sharing with his wife the news of his failure in bringing their prodigal son back to the fold, knowing full well that the wrath of the less merciful Celestine would indeed be terrible.

"Do you dream often when you sleep, father?" Aggregia asked when the two had reached a fork in the road, one path leading up to their home in the mountains.

"At times." Horus replied, "Usually not. Why do you ask?"

"I do, and sometimes I feel that the difference between dream and reality is not so distinct for me." Aggregia shared her experiences, "I feel as though I were walking through another world, without ever leaving my bedroom." Horus' concern grew as she mentioned the places she went to when traveling the Warp and became alarmed when she described the dark realm of Slaanesh her dreams frequented.

"Father, why do you look at me like that?"

Horus' face was a mixture of distress and determination, easily mistaken for anger as his daughter did. "Forgive me, Gia. I should have paid closer attention to you." He put one hand on her shoulder and vowed, "Sanguinius may not receive my instruction, but I will not fall short when it comes to you."

Aggregia's face grew sad, "Have I done wrong, father?"

"No, my dear." Horus assured her, "Indeed, you hold powers beyond your young mind's comprehension. Yet this power may endanger you if it is not tempered, controlled. I will teach you how to control it, that you may wield it for the good of mankind."

"He always said that I should tread carefully in that place, that I held the power to change reality as I saw fit but had no experience in using it."

"Who told you that?" Horus asked.

"The one who watches over me in my dreams, a winged red-skinned giant with a single glowing eye."

Horus' concern grew, and he beckoned for his daughter to come closer. "Aggregia, I fear the worst for you. That giant you say that watches over you is not the benevolent guardian as you think."

"Why? Who is he?"

"He is known as Magnus the Red, self-proclaimed King of Sorcerers and a daemon prince of the Dark God Tzeentch." Horus revealed, "Long ago, in a civil war that tore mankind apart, he sided with the forces of Chaos and doomed his people to serve his dark patron for eternity. If he watches you in your dreams, he recognizes your gifts and will undoubtedly take advantage of your inexperience to sway you towards evil. Beware, my daughter, of his lies. No matter how friendly he may seem to be, his true nature is perfectly concealed, for he had a millennia of experience to hone his craft of deceit."

Aggregia swallowed the lump growing in her throat as she took her father's words to heart, "Then...what shall I do?"

"As I said, I will teach you how to control your power." Horus said, "This is so that you might not fall prey to the powers of corruption."

Aggregia, under the dim light of dusk, saw the black smoke rising up from their home. "Father, look! What's happening up there?"

The two ascended the pathway quickly, soon after finding Celestine and the Custodes standing at the courtyard participating in the funeral rites of one of their own and a few of the servant girls murdered in the aeldari invasion. Upon the lit pyres, their corpses were laid with all the honors deemed necessary.

Horus approached a grim Celestine and greeted his wife with a loving embrace. Celestine responded stiffly at first, but gradually softened to her husband's touch. Her searching gaze scrutinized the two, narrowing with stern rebuke as she noticed the absence of her wayward progeny. "You return without our son."

"And I return to find mourning." Horus replied. "Tell me what happened here."

The Saint's words were laced with spite, "The witches were here. They came for Soulrender, made off with your prized weapon and slew those who stood in their way. You bear witness to the results."

"Did you get a good look at them?" Horus asked.

"What?"

"The eldar who stole the spear, did you get a good look at them? What colors they wore?"

"Does it matter? The xenos came and desecrated the sanctity of our home!" Celestine snarled. "They all will suffer my wrath when I'm done here!"

"It matters to me." Horus replied quietly, "I want to know whose Craftworld they represent, for I will not visit wrath upon those undeserving."

"They all deserve your wrath, or have you forgotten the treacherous ways of the alien?"

Horus glanced at Aggregia and bade her to return to the house while he discussed the matter with his wife in private, "I have not forgotten, yet I have had allies among those aliens whose actions have brought forth an age of prosperity for mankind. Their deeds speak of good will, and I in the least would give a few the benefit of the doubt." Horus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "So I ask again, did you get a good look at them?"

Celestine grumbled out a reply, "They wore red, and the blasphemous xeno cross with a pearl atop its crest- a symbol I'm certain you're very familiar with."

Horus sighed, "The Ynnari."

"Do you still think them beyond reproach, dear husband?"

"No, I suppose now I do not." Horus relented, "I knew they coveted that spear the moment Yvraine revealed it to be one of their most highly sought-after artifacts. I should've seen this one coming."

"Yes, you should have." Celestine chastised, "As you should have deemed my methods of correction the proper course."

The Saint unfurled her wings and walked away, heading for the edge of the mountain before taking to the skies. Horus knew where she was headed and made no move to stop her. He had done his part, now it was time for Celestine to discipline her prodigal child.

* * *

Samarkar, a beautiful city sitting at the top of the black cliffs overlooking the sea, was one of Y'ttetia's prized wonders. Built with ancient and powerful stones, undoubtedly laced with arcane properties, and shaped meticulously by long-forgotten but skilled architects, Samarkar remained unchanged by the elements since the day it was created.

Having access to both the common roads and the sea, it became the largest trading hub in the continent, and was the first of many melting pots of different cultures and faiths- all of which had the common inspiration of the Holy Golden Throne on Terra. Visitors from other worlds were commonplace, such as the wandering warriors of sundered adeptus astartes chapters or the occasional aliens, though their presence did little to affect the paradise world's development.

Samarkar, fortunately, did not suffer from the effects of the wars fought on Y'ttetia. Having been declared an open city by the ruling merchant factions residing within, the city offered many opportunities for rivaling factions to exploit which also allowed the city itself to profit from. This, of course, did not mean that nobody attempted to conquer the city before.

In fact, many have tried yet failed. Samarkar's merchant guilds, united only in the defense of their livelihood, owned one of the largest mercenary armies known to the world as well as the most advanced fleet of ships Y'ttetia ever saw. To strike at Samarkar meant suffering the wrath of her legions, and many kings, princes and generals found their heads adorning the spires of the city gates.

Sanguinius swooped down from the skies upon catching sight of the city, curiosity winning out as he felt he needed to see what the world had in store for him. Having traveled farther than he'd ever dared from home, the young man felt awed and overwhelmed by the freedom he now enjoyed. The sights that dazzled, the tempting sounds he heard, all endless possibilities that he could never have imagined from the suffocating walls of his mountain home.

His arrival caught the attention of all who walked the dusty road, and when he set his feet back on earth, the city guard reinforced the gate he approached.

Wide-eyed and eager to explore, Sanguinius ignored the nervous guards and walked through the gate, stopping short when he felt the spears digging into his chest and sides.

"Stop!" The sergeant roared. "If you wish to ender, you must first surrender your weapons at the gate and submit to the laws of the city!"

Sanguinius stared at him curiously and eyed the smaller man down. He was dressed in thick plated steel scale armor, the design of which made him look like a fishman. The young man showed his hands and smiled, "I submit. But it's going to be a little hard to surrender my own hands."

The sergeant was not amused by his words, but he waved his men off. "Samarkar has been at peace for hundreds of years, and we'd like to keep it that way for another hundred. The rules here as simple; don't start any trouble and your life will not be forfeit. Remember that, and you and I will not have a problem."

"You do not fear me like your men do." Sanguinius observed.

The sergeant grimaced in disgust, "I've seen more powerful things than you, so those wings and your 'impressive' stature do not impress me. And those things have bowed to the law of Samarkar, as will you." He returned to his post to help inspect some merchant caravans passing through the gate, leaving Sanguinius to continue on his way.

The angel mixed in with the masses crowding the streets of Samarkar. He walked into the market district, where the mixed scent of freshly butchered carcasses of beasts and fish assaulted his nostrils. Vendors and merchants howled and hawked, calling for potential customers to peruse their wares.

In the flesh aisles, there too stood the slave stalls. Men, women and children were lined up by the dozen. Worker slaves were on the left, and comfort slaves on the right. Tall, muscular slaves of every creed and race glared at their would-be masters as people wandered in to inspect the merchandise. With care, they examined the worker slaves, gripping and squeezing their arms and legs to know their money's worth. The chains jangled noisily as those bought were led by the collar to board transport wagons or to walk with their new masters to disappear into the crowd.

Sanguinius had never seen slaves before, and he watched with a mixture of awe, disgust and pity. The comfort slaves, mostly made up of young women and girls, all gazed at the handsome winged stranger with what Sanguinius thought to be as hope. The sight of him was their most sought-after distraction as the roaming rough hands of lecherous masters groped and kneaded their young naked breasts and shapely buttocks.

He gazed back at them, offering all that he had- a kind smile.

A few of them reached out and held him by the arms, pleading quietly when their owners had their backs turned. "Please sir, buy us. We will be good to you."

Sanguinius looked at them sadly and pulled away, "I have nothing to buy you with."

Their gazes fell and they quickly returned to their spots when their master caught sight of Sanguinius. The master, a short and fat man smelling obscenely of some implacable perfume, grinned at the thought of a potential buyer. His golden teeth flashed in the light of the sun as he spoke, "Greetings, my good sir! Looking to buy some of my girls? I've just got them from the Eastern Coastlands, all young and broken to satisfy your every whim!"

"I'm not here to buy, thanks for offering."

The man, however, was not to be refused. "Don't believe me? A coin to sample the wares, then!" His hand, fingers adorned with bejeweled rings, gestured towards the many other slaves standing sheepishly at the back of his stall. Several open booths were erected close to the stalls, where several women stood bent over and chained to wooden pillories. There were three of them, perspiring heavily from the heat of the day and bore the stench of piss and sex.

Some stonemasons, having taken a respite from their work, emerged from the crowd. They must have come there often, for they only had to toss a few gold coins into the waiting hand of the fat slaver before taking their places at the exposed rear of each woman.

Sanguinius watched, transfixed, as the men shamelessly raped the hapless slaves. Exhausted from repeated use, the slave women moaned with cracked and parched voices.

"Oh, uh, you're going to have to wait your turn." The slaver said with a shrug. "But my offer stands, if you're still interested."

The young angel shook his head and left the slave market, desperate to get his mind off the look of dashed hopes they slave girls kept giving him. He chanced upon the shacks of imported goods, where exotic creatures were kept in cages to be sold to customers who had a taste for the finer things. Brothels and drinking dens were located here as well. Brass jars of sweet-smelling wine lined the stairways leading into the dens, and scantily clad women dressed with transparent white and red silks called seductively to all who would lay eyes on them.

"Hey there, stranger." Some said as they caressed the passing angel, "The heat is terrible today. Come inside where it is cool, we'll make your stay worth every coin."

Sanguinius ignored them, distracted by the earlier scene in the market. Something about seeing a fellow human in chains ate at him, and he had no idea why. It felt wrong, but he just couldn't understand what it was exactly. He wandered the city streets until he came to the smithies, where weapons and armor of all kinds were forged and sold.

"Come, good sir!" A crier, a young boy of no more than ten, said to him. "Take a look at one of Master Varriele's fine work! Daggers, swords, spears and armor! You won't be disappointed!" The clamor of hammers striking molten steel into shape reached the angel's ears, and the ceaseless babble of buyers haggling over price drowned out the boy's next words.

Sanguinius let his eyes see the work of the craftsmen, and he saw that they were indeed fine work. Yet, he did not come to the city to buy weapons nor armor. He did not need them.

"Well now!" A familiar voice called to him. "I wasn't expecting to find you here!"

Sanguinius turned to see the armored woman from his earlier adventure and he greeted her in kind, "Ah, Vestra!" His hand reached out to take her own, "You are a welcome sight! What brings you here?"

Vestra shrugged, "Well, I live here. Samarkar is where the Watchers' Guild is based. Though we our presence is spread across the continent, this is the heart of our order." She beckoned for him to follow, "Come with me, I do believe we owe you something for helping us slay that monster."

The two made their way out of the market district and into the housing district, where most of the offices of great import where also located. The Watchers' Guild sat at close proximity to the eastern wall, which faced the sea. Not too far from it was the docks, where hundreds of merchant ships, fishing boats as well as the occasional troop transport ship were docked. Today, several dozen slaver ships also made port for Samarkar, bringing with them the spoils of many conquered lands.

"So why have you come to Samarkar?" Vestra asked as she led him through the gates of the massive guild headquarters.

Awed by the sight of the castle, which held the marble statues of guild heroes, Sanguinius stuttered. "I-I was just...er...wandering the land. The city just caught my attention when I was flying, so I swooped down for a closer inspection."

"Really?" Vestra waved off the guards to let them enter, "And how did you find the fair city? Is it to your liking?"

"There are some things I found disagreeable." Sanguinius blurted, adding quickly upon noticing Vestra's inquisitive look. "But with everything else, I just find myself overwhelmed."

"Grandmaster Gus!" Vestra announced suddenly when a seemingly frail, old man in brass plated mail slowly walked out of his office just up the stairs from where they stood. Her armor whirred audibly as she stood in salute, "You've recovered quickly from your sickness! Praise the Throne!"

"I still have a little fight left in me, Lady Vestra." Gus grunted, lifting up his sagging armor as he walked down the stairs. "There will be no vote for my replacement, not just yet."

"This is your grandmaster?" Sanguinius whispered to Vestra in disbelief. To him, the old man seemed as though if a great wind blew at him he would be reduced to dust.

"Have a care what you say about him." Vestra said in quiet reply, "Grandmaster Gus can turn you inside out with but a snap of his finger."

"Come now, there is no need to be so tense with our visitor." Gus said upon reaching the foot of the stairs, obviously possessing good hearing in spite of his age. "Ah, I remember you from Lady Vestra's report! The angel who helped her stop that murderous monster in the mountains. You are Sanguinius, correct?"

Sanguinius stood upright and straight, "You've heard right. I am Sanguinius."

"Then you're a bold one to enter this city, sir." Gus declared, "There's quite a hefty bounty on your head, you know."

"Oh? Placed by whom?"

"I think you know." Gus replied, "Regent Maltheus did not take kindly to your actions against him."

"Am I to understand you'd try to claim that bounty?" Sanguinius asked, crossing his arms.

Gus shook his head, "Fortunately for you, no. I don't play politics, and neither does this guild, so I seek not to gain favor from him. I have no need for so much coin, so he can keep his. And under the circumstances, I think your actions were righteous. An entire village saved from the foolishness of young princes, a brave thing to do."

"Most people don't see it that way."

Gus approached the angel and looked up at him, undaunted by the stature of the demigod. "I am not most people." He smiled and pushed for Sanguinius to walk with him. "And obviously, neither are you."

"You're a very strange man, Grandmaster." Sanguinius said.

"I'd prefer the term eccentric." The old man replied with a wink. "That nature helps win the hearts of the people, and sets the Watchers' Guild apart from your usual problem-solving mercenary guild. The coin they give in return is but a bonus. Days are growing darker as time passes. With the throne of the kingdom remaining empty, brothers will rise against brothers. The people will suffer, and all they can look up to are their heroes."

"There are plenty of sellswords in the world, but fewer and fewer heroes, my boy." Gus sighed as they came upon a room that could only be the treasury, "Alas, my time is growing short, and soon the guild too shall change with the times. There will be no room for heroes when that day comes, and all hope of brighter days shall vanish with them."

His words, a lament of a dying man, were hard to comprehend by the young angel. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Words of a troubled old fool, you may ignore if you wish." Gus beckoned for the treasury guards to open a steel safe, "Looking at you, it reminded me of better days, of the possibility of better days."

Sanguinius frowned, "I ask for clarity in your words, sir. What are you trying to tell me?"

Grandmaster Gus held out a blue jewel the size of Sanguinius' fist. The prize was oval, shaped like an egg. Curious dark gold markings that looked like a coiling snake wrapped around the egg's form like a protective ward. This, the grandmaster handed over to reward Sanguinius for his efforts. "I can be patient, perhaps in a few days I shall see if I'm right to hope."

Sanguinius took the egg and eyed the old man curiously. He said nothing as he turned away, having collected his reward.

When he came to the doors leading out of the guild headquarters, he asked Vestra what the old man's cryptic words were all about. "Is he always like that?"

Vestra shrugged, "The stories about you put an idea in his head, this is the first I've seen him talk like that around anyone. He probably wants you to join the guild."

Sanguinius wrapped his fingers around the jewel egg and pursed his lips, still deep in thought about what the old man meant. "Or perhaps...there is no riddle in his words. He's just simply an old man looking for a brighter tomorrow."

"Well, he's right about one thing." Vestra said dismissively, looking up at the darkening skies and noticing the early rain clouds forming. "These are dark times."

As he stared at the egg, Sanguinius thought about what to do with the jewel. The angel had wanted for nothing in his life, save for his freedom. He had that now, and he had no idea what he would use the prize he now possessed for. His mind turned towards the slaves in the market, and he suddenly had an idea. The jewel would be worth much, though Sanguinius wondered if he actually needed to pay anything for them at all.

"Where are you going?" Vestra asked as he made his way out of the guild grounds.

"I'm off to buy some slaves."

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	29. Sanguinius' Whim

**A/N**

 **Okay, so this fic was long due an update. Hope you all are holding up well in these troubled times! Stay safe, and enjoy!**

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The creature struck so suddenly that there was no time to raise the alarm.

The moment the guard had been roused from their beds, the sentries were already left in pieces. The horrid sounds of bones crunching and flesh squelching, accompanied by ear-splitting howls of dying men and the clamor of weapons falling to the floor.

A slave girl raised her head from its resting place on the rough wooden deck of the transport sloop where she and a hundred other slaves were interred in. She stood up, waking her fellow slaves as she stretched their neck to peer out through the metal grills on the ceiling that served as the only window they had of the outside world.

A corpse fell slack against the grills, sending a trickle of blood splattering across her eyes. The slave girl yelped and wiped the blood off her face. What she saw next caused her jaw to slacken and her mouth hung agape. The creature, a man with wings like that of an eagle, tore off the bars and the corpse along with it. With a nonchalant flick of the wrist, he tossed down to the slave woman's waiting hands a ring holding the keys to their freedom. Then, he lifted his mighty wings and took to the skies.

Quickly as they could, the slaves removed their chains and opened the doors of their cell. Eager to taste freedom once more, the slaves exited the sloop and joined the hundreds spilling out into the docks. Their pace slowed as they passed the guardhouses, where the ripped and torn corpses of the slave traders' guards now lay scattered across the streets.

A loud rush of wind caused everyone to look up, and there again was the winged man.

He landed atop the roof of one of the guardhouses and stood tall. With his form silhouetted by the bright white moon above, he looked like an angel of death. In awe, many of the slaves made religious signs with their hands and bowed before their liberator.

He pointed to the crowd, "Those who are warriors among you, stand in front of the masses!"

After a moment of hesitance, a few hundred scarred and muscle-bound slaves emerged. These men and women were sold into slavery after their kingdoms, great and small, were consumed by more powerful rival kingdoms. Their chains were now gone, and what replaced them was an eager thirst for violence. They beheld their liberator with expectant eyes and bristling lips. Before he even offered it, they already knew what he would promise- and opportunity to strike back against the city of merchants.

"You were robbed of choice when you were put in chains. I, Sanguinius, return to you that power!" He thrusted a threatening hand against the city of Samarkar that stood behind him. All around the docks, the fires now started to light up the night sky as the slaver ships burned. "You may run and fade into the night, or you can join and follow me as I reshape this city! Seize the weapons and armor of your oppressors, and make haste if you so choose the latter choice! The hour of vengeance is at hand!"

Mouths twisted into mad grins, and the warriors among the slaves roared in approval, snatching up weapons and armor to gird themselves on and that they might soon begin their night of conquest. Sanguinius, as he watched the liberated people scatter and arm themselves, stopped to think for a moment and realized he had barely thought this through.

He could almost hear his mother's enraged words of disapproval and see his father's stern look of disappointment. As the hour of conquest drew near, every hair on his body stood out, and Sanguinius felt a strange feeling of vulnerability pass over him. It felt as though someone far away was watching him. This feeling lasted for a good while, then faded as quickly as it came.

He decided he didn't care. A god had come to Samarkar, and he had come to claim the city as his.

In a moment of reckless abandon full of prideful condescension, Sanguinius hastily dubbed himself as a self-proclaimed conqueror and seized Samarkar within a single night. Though the ill-equipped former slaves posed little a threat to the better suited mercenary army guarding the city, the demigod was more than a match for his enemies. With the force of a tidal wave, Sanguinius flew from street to street, shattering formation after formation and setting his followers loose on the populace.

The slaves, united no matter which conquered kingdom they came from, spilled through the gaps Sanguinius provided. They then routed, trampled, and massacred their masters within hours.

* * *

"Grandmaster!" Commander Vestra burst into the room, jarring the old man awake from his desk where he had fallen asleep. "Grandmaster, the city is under attack!"

"What? By whom?" The Grandmaster of the Watchers hastily followed the woman out into the courtyard, where the few dozen Watchers who remained at headquarters had gathered at Vestra's command.

"The slaves have revolted, the docks are on fire." Vestra turned to motion the Watchers to follow, "They've already reached the temple district, and from what I hear, they would soon break through and reach the Gilded Palace." The Gilded Palace, as the commander referred, was the home of Samarkar's ruling merchant guild. There were four exalted figures who represented the five families that held sway over Y'ttetia's economy, each an esteemed financial institution in their own right- each, save one, a detestable hedonist and fine example of the depraved side of society.

If it were up to Vestra, she would leave the Exalted to their fates. They, after all, bragged of the might of their sellsword armies. Alas, there was one among them who helped keep the Watchers from fading into obscurity, and that much goodwill was owed their protection.

"Then that is where you must go." Grandmaster Gus decided, "I will assist in directing those who flee to find refuge in the Gilded Palace courtyards. Convince Lady Nefertiri to allow them to stay while we quell this rebellion while you're there, yes?"

"Of course." Vestra patted him on the shoulder and marched off with her coterie of Watchers.

The Grandmaster joined the Samarkar mercenaries as they marched down the street leading into the heart of the city, where the temple district was located. Here, a dozen temples dedicated to the Golden Throne of Terra and the venerated heroes of the Imperium were erected since the city's first days, as well as hundreds of shrines to local deities that would surely earn the wrath of the Ecclesiarchy should they pay the world a visit one day. These temples also held many relics of gold, emerald and marble.

Flesh offerings in the form of beautiful and young virgin slaves, both man and woman, were brought in daily here to be bound forever to the worship of the God-Emperor. This, of course, was not wholly true given the black hearts of the temple priesthood. Indeed, Slaanesh smiled upon Samarkar more than the God-Emperor ever did.

Though tonight no one smiled wider than Khorne himself, as the liberated warriors among the slaves tore through the gates and fell upon the priests like ravenous wolves. The bodies piled up on the marble floors, and the blood flowed like rivers. The priestesses, dressed in nothing but white silken robes that barely covered their voluptuous forms, flailed helplessly as the lustful horde carried them off. Their piteous cries filled the night as did the clamor of steel striking steel.

Then, the crackle of thunder drowned out the noise of battle as a streak of lightning struck the crush of bodies pressing through the streets. Grandmaster Gus, the most powerful sorcerer in Samarkar, revealed his true form as a terrifying force of nature. He wielded the elements with great ease as he held the tide back single-handedly; blasting bellows of flames, snap-freezing with the chill of space itself, and throttling his enemies with the crushing force of the earth below.

"Grandmaster!"

Gus looked up and saw the angelic form of Sanguinius. He stared with great disbelief as the demigod returned to solid ground. All around them, the clash of warriors continued in earnest, undeterred by the confrontation between the two men.

"Sanguinius." Gus said, frowning deeply at the young angel. "Why have you done this?"

"You spoke of brighter days for this city, I bring them on these former slaves' behalf." Sanguinius replied, raising his eyes to the marble statue of a hero of some bygone era. "Samarkar has waited long enough for a worthy king to sit on her throne."

Astonished by the sheer arrogance of the man, Gus blurted out. "You would sack a city, slaughter its people and deface its gods- out of a whim?!"

"I am the only god that matters!" Sanguinius turned his burning gaze upon the old sorcerer. His voice boomed louder than the roll of thunder, and the fighting took pause to behold the demigod as he made his presence known to all. "And you will all kneel before me!" He stretched out his hands to show the blood caking his fingers from a hundred slain warriors, "Kneel, or be broken as those who dared to defy my will!"

Many of the mercenaries had seen the angel tear through their ranks with the strength of a hundred men, they saw him brush off the arrows that struck his skin as though they were but raindrops, they saw the fires of hell in his eyes- and their hearts failed them. Courage washed away like morning dew, and the mercenaries cast aside their weapons and dropped to their knees to beg for the demigod's mercy. The rebels mocked their former masters for their weakness and hailed their liberator's might.

Grandmaster Gus, along with his small band of Watchers, stood their ground. "I have bowed to no one but the Exalted Ones of Samarkar, and that's unlikely to change. I will let my actions be judged later when I stand before the Golden Throne."

"Then I shall hurry you to its courts." Sanguinius grinned, readying himself for battle.

* * *

When Commander Vestra reached the gates of the Gilded Palace, she was barred from entry as the Exalted Ones were playing hosts to a grand party. As she argued with the guards to allow her passage, with not a single soul in that place even knowing the horde approaching from the temple grounds, what should have been a simple celebration of a good year took a more decadent turn.

Within the golden walls of the palace, great and long tables filled with all manner of delicious food and entire basins of sweet wine were placed before lords and ladies of every esteemed and respectable families in the land. Exotic fruits, strange meats from distant lands, as well as more questionable choices for the most ravenous connoisseur.

Young and succulent girls, marked with onyx black tattoos of snakes coiling around their necks, breasts, legs and feet- were offered up on silver platters. Lords stared hungrily as their servants slipped knives into their hands, and ladies gracefully picked up their forks and buried their tips into the quivering, naked flesh. The girls arched their backs in agony and opened their mouths to scream, yet no sound could be heard from them. If one looked closely, several surgical scars could be seen at the offerings' throats. Though pain gripped them tight like the noose of the gallows, they had long been robbed of their voices and so they cannot scream.

Their helplessness added to the flavor of the meat, and the diners reveled in their misery.

Lord Bolonir, the Exalted One of Chains, sat at his throne of furs and pillows on the far left of the court. Dozens of slave women lay at his feet, waiting on their master's demands. Long chains were fastened to their collars, all held in the fat, greasy hands of the Slave King of Samarkar. With one eye, the massive ogre-like form of a man watched the degenerate festivities before him, and the other kept close watch on the slave girl offering up a plate of smoked steak. He devoured the meal in one gulp and slapped the slave girl's plate away. With one forceful tug, he pulled the girl to sit on his lap.

His free hand, still soaked with the gravy of his meal, pinched and groped its way across her posterior.

Lord Vandir the Exalted One of Stoneworks, who sat at his throne of marble just a few meters next to Bolonir, grimaced in disgust at the uncivilized manner of his fellow lord. He wondered why the insufferable bastard bothered to come, seeing as how Bolonir rarely left his ivory tower in his coastland villa a few miles out of Samarkar. His slaves, both exceptional specimens of male strength and form, offered up platters of his favorite fruits. The lord waved them away, having lost his appetite at the barbaric turn of the night's festivities. It wasn't the hedonism that bothered him, but the shameless public display of it. As was his preference, and unlike his peers, Lord Vandir endeavored to keep his less civilized tastes private.

Lord Kostor, Exalted One of Iron, took pleasure in the quick change of the party's tune as well as the warm feeling of a woman's mouth around his cock. This woman was no slave, however, but a lady of some easily forgotten family looking to gain favor with Kostor. Her eyes stared up at him through the mask that hid the top half of her face, and she smiled in spite of the member stuffing her mouth. Kostor pushed her head back down on him, leaned over her back and gave her ass a slap of approval.

Lady Nefertiri, Exalted One of Blades and Samarkar's overseer of the mercenary army that protected its lands, hung her head and rubbed her temple. Her discomfort for the festivities showed, but she made no effort to hide it. Inwardly, she wished it would be over soon or that she might find some excuse to leave early. The festivities were but a formality and the planning of its execution were heavily influenced by Lord Bolonir and Lord Kostor, thus leading to the decadent display she was now forced to witness. The music in the courtroom, combined with the sounds of laughter, conversation and sex, was hypnotic. Nefertiri felt like going mad, should she find no respite from the festivities.

"My lady." A guardsman whispered upon approaching her throne, "There's been an incident. Commander Vestra of the Watchers Guild is here to see you. Shall I have her brought into the courtroom?"

"Heavens no!" Nefertiri hissed, rising up to descend the stairs of her elevated throne to the floor. "I shall meet her outside." Grateful for the distraction, the Exalted One of Blades excused herself and exited the courtroom. She met Commander Vestra and the Watchers just at the Gilded Palace doors.

"My lady, we have no time to waste. The city is under attack from a slave revolt." The commander reported.

Lady Nefertiri said, "Are my men not enough to contain this threat?"

"I am not concerned with their ability to contain the threat, I am concerned for the people caught in the clash." Vestra replied, "The walls of the Gilded Palace hold enough safe ground for those who seek refuge from the fighting. I ask that you allow them through the gates while the rebellion is quelled."

"It will be done, you have my word." Lady Nefertiri agreed.

The booming voice of Sanguinius caused the pair to jump in fear, "Don't make promises you can't keep, woman."

"S-Sanguinius?" Vestra said in astonishment, "What is the meaning of this?"

Sanguinius chuckled, "Funny, he said the same thing too." He landed in between the pillars that stood at the Gilded Palace entrance, where twin iron statues of slaves locked in perpetual torment as they held the building roof above their heads were erected at each pillar. "You, you are of the Exalted Ones? The rulers of this city?" He said to Lady Nefertiri.

Nefertiri nodded, barely standing her ground as the towering figure clearly intimidated her.

"Your armies are at their knees, now it is your turn." As he spoke, the clamor of the Gilded Palace gates reached the woman's ears. The guards there fought bravely, but became slowly and increasingly overwhelmed by the numbers of the rebel slaves. At the sight of the towering angel standing so close to their lady, the guards at the doors of the Gilded Palace swarmed over to protect the Exalted One of Blades.

Vestra's axe hummed with increasing intensity as she readied her arm to swing, "What have you done to Guildmaster Gus?"

Sanguinius turned his gaze to his former companion, "The same thing I will do to you if you do not submit."

"Have at him!" Lady Nefertiri cried, taking flight as her guards rushed the angel. Vestra growled as she took the first swing, recoiling in surprise when the blade of her weapon shattered before it even touched Sanguinius' skin.

Sanguinius shook his head and sent her flying with a well placed kick to the chest. Vestra landed painfully on her head some twenty feet away, hitting the base of one of the metal statues of the Gilded Palace, knocking herself out. A panic-stricken Nefertiri commanded the guards still inside the palace to bar the doors while she moved to warn the other lords and ladies in the courtroom. She found them in the middle of a summoning rite, which was an uncommon practice even among Samarkar's elite.

In her brief absence, the decadence had reached a point where the line between sanity and madness had blurred. Now, mere men no longer held audience to the sheer depravity of the night's festivities alone. The daemons of the Lord of Excess had found their way into Y'ttetia, small in scale when compared to most circumstances yet nonetheless perilous.

Found feasting and drinking off of the offerings of the drunken masses, the Maidens of Ecstasy looked up in surprise at the sudden return of Lady Nefertiri. The music in the courtroom had noticeably changed to a more sinister and even more entrancing tune, almost like a symphony created by the most alluring sirens one could imagine. For a moment, Nefertiri forgot the danger that was at their very door and was tempted beyond anything she'd ever experienced before to partake of the offerings.

The daemonettes, creatures more beautiful and graceful than anything mortal eyes could ever witness, beckoned with welcoming hands as they sang a maddeningly sweet song.

"You pretty thing, oh pretty thing, come and see. Join in the song of glorious depravity. Come, be free." They glided through the air with breathtaking elegance as they approached the woman. "We shall see to your every need." Predator-like teeth bared white from smiling lips, "We can make you scream and bleed."

Like a rock smashing glass, the tension of the moment was shattered as Sanguinius brought the whole ceiling down upon their heads. Glass, iron and stone piled up on them, crushing lord and lady, master and slave beneath the rubble. When the dust cleared, only a handful of lords and ladies, including the Exalted Ones remained to behold the bloodthirsty angel in all his glory.

Without even bothering to know what horrors he killed and now held in his hands, Sanguinius tossed aside the broken corpses of the daemonettes and roared in triumph. His eyes fell upon the Exalted Ones and a mad grin found its way to his lips. He caught them at their knees, surrounded by their dusty and badly frightened slaves.

"See? Not so hard now, is it?"

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	30. Unconquerable

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The days following their victory over the city that once enslaved them were spent on celebration, and the liberated slaves indulged themselves on the rich bounty the conquered city had to offer them. Warehouses were broken into and their goods were distributed all over, from exotic foods that the elite once engorged themselves in to the finest wines stored in painted jars, they had their fill of their former masters' luxuries until they grew slow from excess.

Day in, day out they spent it all on feasts, drink and fornication.

"To Sanguinius, Savior of the Damned!" A chorus of cheers rang clear through the mixed noise of music, grunts and moans in the Gilded Palace. "Long may he live, long may he reign!"

Sanguinius himself sat at the marble throne that once belonged to one of the Exalted Ones, surrounded by many former comfort slaves impatiently waiting at his feet for his attention. He leaned back lazily on the fur padded rest, pushing an entire bunch of grapes in his mouth as he basked in the honors thrown his way. His wanting eyes searched the chamber, past the half-naked women swaying and dancing atop the tables surrounded by lustful warriors, until they fell upon a flustered scantily-clad servant barely surviving her trip through the courtroom as she carried a platter filled with fruit from one table to another.

This servant was the once revered Exalted One of Blades, Lady Nefertiri, now reduced to as low as the slaves she once owned. As part of some cruel game, the woman had been given the role to serve in the Gilded Palace with each day brought with more humiliation by her vindictive conquerors. The pinching, the groping and the lecherous stares, she endured it all with her head held high. Naturally, her defiance served to anger her new masters and so the game reached a point where the abuse started to become more visceral.

A shove here, a slap over there. Bruised and scratched, Nefertiri fell to the floor unheeded by her masters. A pained yelp escaped her when her right hand was crushed beneath the weight of a man's boot.

"Bring her to me." She heard the voice she despised among all others say.

Strong hands lifted her to her feet and pulled her towards the throne. The narrowed eyes of the women at his feet followed Nefertiri as she was brought before Sanguinius. The former Exalted One refused to look at him as she rubbed at her bruised arm and shoulder.

"You still live? Your fortitude impresses me, for one who looks so...frail."

Gone were the heavy gold ornaments that once adorned her neck and wrists, save for the small gilded chains that coiled around her ankles and toes- the jewelry of prized slaves. Her skin, though slightly marred by the scratches and bruises she suffered from her tormentors, was white as marble. Having spent her life bathing in milk and scented oils, sparing no expense in maintaining herself, Nefertiri remained radiant and her beauty shone regardless of her predicament. Her shining black hair, no longer bound by the silver crown she once wore, now cascaded down her shoulders freely.

What caught Sanguinius' attention the most were her fiery green eyes that flared with every spiteful word that fell from her lips, "Fortitude I have, doomed to be tested daily thanks to you."

Sanguinius leaned forward and seized the chain that hung from her collar. He tugged at her leash, pulling her into his waiting arms. He scooped her up into his lap, forcing her to straddle his hips. Amused at her discomfort he mockingly said to her as he watched her struggle to keep her composure, "I like your fire, woman. Truly, it burns hotter than these smoldering wenches that sit at my feet."

The aforementioned wenches at his feet recoiled as though his words slapped them across their faces, but Sanguinius ignored them as he caressed an irate Nefertiri's exposed thighs and waist with his roaming, marauderous hands. "You shall warm my bed in the coming nights."

"I will never submit to you, fiend!"

"Good. Now, let's test that fortitude again." Sanguinius rose up, hefting the woman onto his massive shoulder as he moved towards the empty bedchamber that once belonged to Nefertiri.

Bursting through the doors, the angel tossed the struggling fragrant bundle into the large bed. He followed her in, discarding his robe to reveal an impressive form rippling with steely muscle. Nefertiri refused to meet his eye as she turned her head to the side. Her heart hammered against her rib cage as her mind frantically searched for any means of escape.

A humorless laugh escaped her lips as she thought of the irony of her situation. Not too long ago, she had indulged herself with a couple of male comfort slaves in this very room. To have her body taken against her will, it was a feeling entirely alien to her, but she realized this was something slaves endured every day of their lives.

"Do I hear amusement in your voice so soon after cutting me with your tongue?" Sanguinius inquired as he loomed over her.

Having been stripped of all nobility since her enslavement, Nefertiri found herself reduced to cling to the one instinct that once drove her to ascend the heights of Samarkar political power. She fought, tooth and nail, to get to where she was. Now, she had to fight to live. As much as she hated to admit it, Sanguinius was her only means to survival. If her defiance amused him, it wouldn't last. She knew she had to play the game right, keep the angel hooked until other options would present themselves to her.

Like in politics, though requiring methods that were more tangible and direct, Nefertiri had to use her wits and rely on her will to survive to get her through this sordid affair. With a mind sharp as her former title demanded, she quickly formed a plan that would buy her time. Later, she can think about escaping.

For now, she needed to keep Sanguinius interested in her.

"You will not find me so easily conquered as this city." Nefertiri growled, showing the flames that stoked the angel's passion. "You may take my body, but my heart will always burn against y-"

The woman squeaked as Sanguinius silenced her with a bruising kiss.

* * *

The dull throb of a hundred feet marching across the common roads could be heard for miles away.

One could easily mistake it for the marching of an army, if one missed the cacophony of weeping, moaning and the lamentation of a people banished from their home city. This was no army, but refugees tossed out into the wilderness following the sack of Samarkar. After overthrowing the Exalted Ones in a single night and seizing control of the mercenary armies that once swore their loyalty to Lady Nefertiri, Sanguinius' followers removed the former inhabitants of the merchant city and occupied their properties as compensation for their enslavement.

Though grateful for escaping with their lives and avoiding the less fortunate fates of those who remained in the city, the refugees were left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever they could carry on their way out of Samarkar, and these would not last them for long.

Among them were the few surviving members of the Watchers Guild, who took it upon themselves to uphold the oath they had once pledged to their grandmaster and did their best in safeguarding the refugees. With Grandmaster Gus dead, they now looked up to Commander Vestra for guidance. The woman, though still feeling the weight of grief at the loss of her friends, hid her pain beneath a determined and unbroken veneer. Through her, the Watchers found strength and pushed on in spite of their misfortune.

After spending several days trekking the roads as far away as possible from Samarkar, the refugees took pause and made camp at a flat plain. Makeshift tents and shelters were erected across the grassland in a tight circle to make the Watchers' task of protecting the people an easier one. The strain of sudden poverty among the refugees who had just recently been torn from their privileged lives proved unavoidable and tensions rose among the mixed population. Vestra did her best to keep the order among them, and just before she thought violence would break out, Lord Regent Maltheus' army chanced upon the refugees.

Though not as large as the one he lost, House Lykkarius' army was still a sight to behold. Seizing all that he had in his family's treasury in a mad gamble for balancing the scales, Maltheus recruited every notable mercenary guild he could find in the land to his cause. Numbering 30,000 from the venerable mecha-knight to the simplest footman, his diverse and well structured replacements may overshadow his previous preparations.

Riding out personally with his coterie of bodyguards, Maltheus approached the Watcher commander, intent on finding out why a group of refugees was sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Once he was a few feet away from where she stood, Maltheus dismounted and walked towards her.

He noted the symbol of her guild on her battered armor, "You, you're a Watcher."

"I am, my lord."

"Why are you all out here instead of seeking shelter in the cities? Samarkar is not far from your camp."

Vestra shook her head, "We were all from Samarkar, my lord. These people I watch over have been robbed of their homes and have been cast out to die in the wilderness. We, what is left of the Watchers, will fight to keep that from happening until they find safety in a new home."

"Samarkar? Taken?" Maltheus couldn't believe what he was hearing, knowing full well the strength of its defenses. "How and by whom?"

"I think you're familiar." Vestra answered, "He hides himself beneath the guise of an angel, promising goodwill to those he meets yet leaves destruction in his wake. I speak of the winged daemon that laid waste to your army, the same who had sacked Samarkar. I speak of Sanguinius."

Maltheus' eyes flashed in anger at the commander's words, "You are certain of this?"

"I am." Vestra nodded, "Our paths have joined once before, and I even considered him a friend until he destroyed my city and killed my master. Now, I yearn for his death."

"As do I." Maltheus replied, looking to the east where the city could be found. He traveled all this way seeking an audience with the Exalted One of Blades to bolster the ranks of his army with more mercenaries. He realized he would not get those mercenaries, but he would at least get the next best thing. Maltheus turned to the commander, "What is your name?"

"I am Commander Vestra, my lord."

"Well then, Vestra, how would you like to return Sanguinius the favor?"

* * *

The night passed ever so slowly.

The city of Samarkar had fallen silent, its new denizens fallen into a drunken stupor after days of seemingly endless merriment. To those who looked from outside its walls, the city looked as impenetrable as before with its tall gates shut and its sentry towers alight with burning torches. Yet the truth was that not even a single sentry had been posted, for all the former slaves had taken part in the festivities and now sat slack against the walls asleep as everyone else. From every street, corner and alley, they all lay scattered across the cobblestones with their broken wine jars and tankards still clutched tight between their fingers.

In the Gilded Palace, the former slaves all too lay where they had fallen, all naked and curled up against one another after hours of untold debauchery.

Only Sanguinius and his newly claimed slave woman Nefertiri lay awake. The angel, blood still hot after spending the night testing the woman's fortitude, clutched her sweaty and naked form close to his chest. He nuzzled her neck gently, breathing in deeply of her fragrance as he kissed the tender flesh of her cheek and ear.

Nefertiri hugged her knees to her chest as she felt Sanguinius spoon against her back. She lay as though she was in pain, but in truth, she lay curled up against him in shame.

She expected a night filled with suffering as her unwilling body was taken, but was astonished that such expectations were subverted in the most mind-numbingly titillating way possible. Never before, among all the men and women she had taken into her bed, none came close to what she experienced that night. In the few blurry moments that she remembered, she looked back on the unsurpassed skill the angel displayed in the bedroom which matched what he displayed on the battlefield, blushing at the thought that he indeed fucked like a god.

She hated him with all her heart, but her treacherous body screamed his name.

"Kill me..." Nefertiri groaned, unwilling to fight the war brewing in her mind as she was too exhausted to even think of it.

"Admitting defeat so soon?" Sanguinius mockingly rumbled in her ear, "I thought you fancied yourself as unconquerable." He rose up to get himself a drink, playfully smacking her across the rear on his way out. He donned his robe and walked out into the balcony to survey all he had seized for himself.

Samarkar, though just recently suffering a violent takeover, was still as beautiful as he had seen the first day he spotted it atop the clouds of Y'ttetia. And Nefertiri, like the city, feigned contempt when she actually craved his touch. It felt good. Not just the fucking, but the feeling of seizing something under ones control because they had the strength to do so.

A deep rumble in the distance told of an approaching storm, and added a chill in the wind as it swept across the city. Sanguinius took a long sip of his wine and smiled, proud of all he had accomplished.

This was power. This was what he was meant for. A conqueror, not some tool fashioned to fit his parents' design.

"Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone." Lightning streaked across the sky, followed close by the roll of thunder, both a metaphor for the cold rage that smoldered in Celestine's heart. Absolutely livid by all she had seen, Sanguinius' mother struggled to rein in her temper as she flew down to his level at the balcony. "You have shamed our family with your actions, Sanguinius."

Sanguinius, once his surprise faded, hid his fear beneath a mask of contempt. He had not accounted for the possibility of his mother's confrontation, and now that she was here his plans for conquest were brutally shoved aside. "Have you come to drag me back to that pauper's hole? I won't make it easy for you."

Celestine blinked twice, her mind barely able to process what her spiteful son just said to her. "Even now, you defy instruction. Your father wanted to do this under a gentle hand- but even the stubborn blade must be hammered to correction!"

Sanguinius roared and unfurled his wings to take flight. Though he was noticeably bigger than his mother, Celestine was a warrior priestess of the Ecclesiarchy unlike the ones Sanguinius faced in his relatively short life. She caught him by the neck and slapped him across the face, "Foolish child, you would strike against your own mother?"

"Bitch!" Sanguinius spat, balling up a fist to send it slamming into Celestine's stomach. With the other, he hurled her against one of the Gilded Palace spires. Stone and gold bricks broke into a cloud of debris as Celestine's fall shattered the tower, but she quickly recovered and gave in to her rage. In a flash, she flew up and took hold of her son, throttling him across the face of the palace before throwing him out to land some distance out into the city.

Sanguinius twisted about to let his feet land on the ground and broke the cobblestones into a pile of rubble when they met his soles. The noise of the fight and the threat of rain aroused the sleeping former slaves, and they took shelter even as the angels battled on Samarkar's skies.

They grappled in the air, neither Celestine nor Sanguinius holding back their demigodlike strength as they both moved to beat the other into submission. Sanguinius, noticing the storm that gathered above them, seized his mother by the throat and flew them both up. He raised her above him just as the next bolt of lightning bounced back and forth amongst the clouds, striking both of them and sending them crashing against the western wall. The force of their fall was enough to send the arcane stones crumbling, they left a large gap in between where they landed, enough to fit ten men who stood together.

Shaken, bruised and bleeding from minor wounds, Sanguinius growled at Celestine as he pushed himself back on his feet. "I'm not going back, you hear me you stubborn sow?! You tried to force a purpose on me once, I have found my own!" He pointed to the city, "Do you see this? I have taken this city singlehandedly, I have realized my power in a way that can never be found in that hovel you call a home! And these people you see, I have freed them from slavery and offered them a place under my rule!"

"And you call this power, boy?" Celestine retorted, "Your foolishness has clouded your mind beyond anything I can comprehend! You are so blind with arrogance that you cannot even see what consequences your recklessness could breed!"

Sanguinius' keen ears, even through the noise of the rain, could hear the distant bellow of a battle-horn signaling an army's advance. He turned around to look to the west, and saw an army bearing a familiar standard approaching the city. After taking note of the breach in Samarkar's walls, the armies of House Lykkarius were told to march forward and retake the city.

"You want to lead these people?" Celestine asked sternly as she prepared to fly away, "Good, then bear the weight of their lives as they are to be offered up for slaughter."

She flew some distance away and out of sight, though Sanguinius knew she would still be watching. There was an obvious advantage for their enemies now that there was a breach in their defenses, but Sanguinius decided he didn't care. He arrogantly defended that he was more than enough for this.

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	31. The Black Cardinal

**A/N**

 **Well, I planned to make Sanguinius II unlikable in the beginning to produce a more believable character as he would have a journey of self-improvement later, I hadn't counted on him being THAT unlikable. Well, we're here now, so close to the end of the second book. I'm glad to have so many of you still onboard with me on this journey, and I wish you all the best! So here's another chapter for you, enjoy :)**

 **}!{**

"The walls have been breached! Charge!"

A shared roar rolled across the valley in contest with the thundering peal of the storm as the Lykkarian army broke into a run. Earlier on, they had set up positions some considerable distance away from Samarkar's walls, being cautious of the unknown as they operated under the assumption that the rebels had fortified the city defenses. The fight between the two angels caught the attention of the Lord Regent, and to his surprise, it ended with the destruction of a sizable chunk of the western wall. Quickly, Maltheus summoned his commanders to prepare to seize the opportunity presented before them, thus leading to the Lykkarian army's vanguard mobilizing and swarming over to the breach.

"It is Sanguinius!" A shared cry for caution swept across the vanguard, "Sanguinius!"

The advance slowed almost instantaneously as the young angel took to the skies. He returned swiftly to the ground with an earth-shattering blow that threw dozens of Maltheus' footmen to the air.

"To the breach, quickly!" Their commanders bellowed above the din of battle, "Don't let the rebels fortify it!"

Sanguinius heard them better than their own men did, and he leaped up to ascend to the broken ramparts of the western wall. Already, the enemy had begun scaling the pile of rubble in an attempt to gain access to the city. Sanguinius' followers, still slow from their long week of celebration, stumbled out of the houses and alleys barely suited for the battle raging outside. Wide-eyed, they stared dumbly as the first Lykkarian soldiers ascended the breach and began pouring into the streets of Samarkar.

"To arms! To arms!" Sanguinius roared, "The enemy has come to steal your freedom from you once more! Take up your swords and fight!" He swooped down to hold back the tide to allow the former slaves enough time to rouse themselves. Alone, he stood in the middle of the breach with nothing but his fists to defend himself against the Lord Regent's soldiers.

The former slaves, instead of rushing in to help their liberator, chose to retreat further into the city. They opted to make their defense there instead of the bottleneck that Sanguinius singlehandedly was holding himself, or just to disappear entirely from the scene.

Sanguinius growled in frustration but stood his ground, which was just exactly what the Lord Regent was counting on.

In the midst of the conflict, eight specialized ballistae were rolled into the fray. These bolt throwers were crafted with the hardest metals and reinforced with arcanic proportions, designed to pierce the armor, stone or some magical barrier. Bolts, seething with black magic that glowed green with fell fire, were hurled at Sanguinius as he fought against Maltheus' men swarming over him. The Regent cared little for the bodies that were skewered in the way, he only cared that the bolts hit their intended target.

Sanguinius cried out in agony as the bolts tore through his arms, shoulders and legs. For the first time in a long while, he had experienced vulnerability and felt as mortal as the ones he had torn apart in his battles.

The bolts, connected to the ballistae with thick ethereal chains, brought him to his knees as they pulled taut and dragged him forward. Seizing their chance, the soldiers rushed for the city breach and spilled into Samarkar. Without their liberator to hold them up, the rebel horde fell apart within minutes. The Regent's legions took control of the eastern districts and prepared to burn out, trample and rout any opposition that remained in the city's walls.

Sanguinius struggled with all his might against the bolts and tried to fly away. He strained against the chains as his mighty wings flapped in futility to gain him the heights. Dozens of Maltheus' strongest warriors, most of them the mecha-knights he had hired from the mercenary companies, took hold of the chains and pulled with all their worth to bring the demigod back to earth. More chains were looped about his body, and with power unleashed by sorcerers in Maltheus' army, the combined strength of human might and magic, Sanguinius fell completely at the mercy of the Lykkarian army.

Once assured of the success of his enemy's capture, Regent Maltheus emerged to meet Sanguinius face to face.

The lord passed the hundred or so men straining to hold the demigod in place, brushed by the sorcerers hunched over with their indecipherable incantations, and finally approached the hapless angel. His triumphant gaze was met with a defiant and baleful glare from Sanguinius.

"You probably don't remember me, but we met once before." Maltheus said.

"Is that so? I don't believe you." Sanguinius snarled, "All that have met and challenged me now lie dead. You are still standing."

"Not personally, but I understand where the hubris comes from." Maltheus indulged in his enemy's banter, "As to that, I do believe there's a first time to everything." He extended his hand to one of his officers who stood with an axe still wrapped in a embroided red cloth. "Like now, where a self-proclaimed god realizes his own mortality."

Sanguinius warily eyed the weapon which gleamed with the sheen of a freshly polished blade and possessed not a single crack nor scratch. This was no ceremonial weapon, but a newly forged one that was crafted for only one purpose- to meet his flesh and his alone. The axe smelled of magic, just like the bolts that pierced his body.

"Commander Vestra, come forward!" Maltheus called out.

Sanguinius' eyes widened as the woman marched out of the Lykkarian vanguard. Their gazes locked, and Sanguinius clenched his teeth as he realized where his actions had led him. As he knelt before his captors, he had that moment of clarity that for so long evaded him due in no small part to his arrogance. Here was a friend he had so quickly transformed into an enemy, whose life he had destroyed for his reckless decisions. The same arrogance threatened to snuff out his newfound perspective, but was quickly overruled by the alien feeling of vulnerability he now felt.

 _Hammered to correction._ The words of his mother rang through his mind.

Vestra took the axe from Maltheus and without a moment's pause, she closed the distance between herself and her enemy and swung the blade. Sanguinius screamed with the voice of a hundred agonized souls, deafening momentarily the men closest to him and causing the sorcerers to recoil for a second.

His right wing, so cleanly cut from his back, fell to the muddied soil.

Vestra, unfazed by his reaction, hefted the axe and swung again. She cut off his other wing, robbing the angel of his dominion of the skies forever. She discarded the axe and struck him across the face with the back of her fist. Again and again, she struck him until her gauntlets cracked and her arms grew sore.

"Enough." A commanding voice thundered from above, causing all to lift their eyes to the heavens. What they saw next caused fear to once again tug at their hearts, and all who bore witness to Saint Celestine's descent from the skies backed away in terror. She was fully girded on with her battle armor, the armor of Saint Katherine, and carried the Ardent Blade. "You will not have his life."

"And who are you to declare this?" Maltheus challenged.

Celestine's eyes, blazing white with the holy fire of the Emperor, seared into the Regent's soul. "His mother." Her feet touched the ground, and she walked among the terrified soldiers to reach her agonized son. She ignored the spears and swords pointed her way, as well as the hundred arrows nocked and drawn to fire at will. "Take back your city. Take your glory, but you will not take my son's life."

"And what of the lives he's taken?" Vestra, aggrieved and furious at this intervention, vehemently protested. "Sanguinius stands guilty for instigating the rebellion of Samarkar's slaves and the butchering of her people! He cannot go unpunished!"

"And you have punished him." Celestine firmly stated, "But by the will of the Throne on Terra itself, his life is not yours to take nor shall I allow it. Submit your grievances here and now."

"I will submit my grievances when I have his head!"

Celestine's voice grew taut as her grip on her sword, "Do not test me, girl. You have all tasted the wrath of but a raw, undisciplined child. Try my patience and you will suffer the wrath of heaven and hell put together."

Vestra's courage wavered at the Saint's words and she backed away slowly to fade into the background.

Regent Maltheus crossed his arms and considered carefully his next words before speaking, "Well, we did get what we came for." His eye fell on the muddied wings on the ground, "And vengeance has been dealt with to an acceptable degree." At his word, the sorcerers ceased in their incantations and the chains were removed. Sanguinius was left to his mother's mercy as the army moved to retake Samarkar.

The screams of the resisting slaves could be heard above the din of battle, and Sanguinius despaired at the sound of judgement raining down upon his followers. So quickly after giving them a taste of freedom, he had inadvertently given them their final taste of death.

"Behold, my son." Celestine said, pulling Sanguinius over to gaze out into the destruction of all he had built. When he would not lift his eyes, Celestine angrily seized him by the jaw and forced him to look. "See the fruits of your labors! This is what happens when you act only upon your whims and disregard all that we have taught you!"

Sanguinius, defeated, fell silent as his mother hammered in everything she had wanted to say to him in his absence. "For all your strengths and gifts, you are no god. Have I not told you this tale long ago when you were but a child, how your father wished to ascend beyond the heavens and beyond the Emperor's light? What happened to him? He was struck down and was destroyed- body and soul. You walk in his very footsteps on a dark road. Do you feel the sting of your mistakes now? Good! If you refuse to heed my correction and continue on this self-destructive path, the loss of your wings will pale in comparison to what you will lose later." She reached down and plucked free the bolts still stuck in her son's body.

Sanguinius grunted, but again said nothing.

"Come." Celestine pulled him up and set him to walk with her, "Let us return home."

* * *

Horus watched his daughter with a mixture of pride, caution and curiosity as she displayed the first manifestations of her psychic abilities.

Psykers all across the Imperium, especially the ones unfortunate enough to live in condemning worlds, suffered from both persecution and exploitation. Seen as more of a resource than people, as much as anything in the Imperium, Horus knew that a scant few truly realized their potential to use their abilities for the good of mankind. All too often, the Ruinous Powers benefited the most from these gifted people.

Already, his enemies had witnessed the power growing within Aggregia. His brother Magnus, ever the trickster like his patron god, thinly veiled his true intentions under the guise of a friend to sway her to his malevolent cause. Horus warned his daughter of his brother and the many traps laid ahead by the enemy. Aggregia would realize her potential, and under his careful supervision she would not fall prey to the temptations of the Warp. The first step would be here, at home.

In the time he spent alone with her, Horus began imparting his knowledge of the psychic arts and how Aggregia would harness her gifts. Hers would manifest in its own unique way, for he knew that no two psykers were entirely the same in their practice of the psyker disciplines. Aggregia had already displayed a talent for simple divination, so Horus endeavored to build up on what she already had. Later, he would teach her all he knew about biomancy, pyromancy, telekinesis and telepathy.

He had a surprisingly good time doing it too, for unlike his rebellious son, Aggregia displayed an eager willingness to learn. As he trained her in the days following their adventure, the bond between father and daughter grew stronger as did Aggregia's talents.

Each day, she manifested a new ability. Raw in its form and begging for an experienced hand to temper its flame, Aggregia worked hard together with her father to master herself. This did not mean, however, that her training was without its own mishaps. Her power, unfortunately, attracted more attention from the malevolent entities residing just beyond the thin veil of reality. Just as her power grew, so did her connection with the Warp, and her nightmares increased in their intensity.

But under the protection of the watchful eye of the Custodes, Aggregia was safeguarded from the attacks of the daemons foolish enough to tear through the veil in an attempt to possess the girl. Not a day went by where she and her father trained that some random portal would suddenly open, spilling daemons into Y'ttetia, only to meet their end at the tip of Arther's spear. This almost discouraged Horus from continuing in their training, but Aggregia was determined to learn.

Here, Horus saw the same eagerness that led to Magnus' corruption. Aggregia, so young and so vulnerable, wanted to drink of the waters of knowledge that the universe offered, not in the least worried that such an ocean sought to drown her. Horus was torn between his fatherly instinct to protect his child and his duty to the Emperor to offer up an acceptable champion of humanity in Aggregia, but before he could make a decision on what to do next, fate dealt a heavy blow upon the house of Lupercal.

"My lord, there's something you must know." Arther took Horus aside one morning. "Remember the day we first set foot on this world?"

"Yes." Horus replied, "We came alone and took great pains uphold complete discretion."

"And you know of the small security network I've installed in this system, utilizing three Luna Wolf battlegroups to safeguard this world while you raised your children." Arther said, "They've detected a warp storm that has entered this system- a swiftly moving warp storm, sir. Further analysis suggested this is no mere happenstance or some random anomaly stemming from the Warp. It is a storm conjured to mask an enemy fleet."

It was a change in the course of events, and not in a good way. "I suppose that explains the increasing number of daemonic incursions here. This is no accident, indeed. Where is the storm now?"

"Less than a lightyear away from Y'ttetia, and with each hour that passes the distance closes. We have to get you and your family out of here, while there is still time."

"And what of the planet itself?" Horus inquired.

"What of it?" Arther asked, annoyed that the Primarch would even ask if the people of this world mattered more than their lives and the safety of the Emperor's grandchildren.

"Never mind." Horus sighed, "Make your preparations, Arther. But we must wait until my wife and son return, before we depart for safety. It won't be long now."

"As you wish, my lord."

* * *

Sanguinius' wounds, though grievous, fought hard against the poisons that still ate at his flesh, then soon after scabbed over and closed. Though they were many, the hollow gashes in his shoulders most frequently assailed his tortured mind. He had never known defeat in his life, but when he tasted of it, he realized it was the most bitter thing one could ever taste in life.

This bitterness served to melt away the arrogance that so corrupted his mind all these years, though the process itself was loathed deeply by the young demigod.

"Mother." He lifted his eyes to his mother, who bore him aloft as she flew them across the skies. "Why did you save me, if you hated what I've become?"

Celestine had not spoken to him since they've left Samarkar, and the first words her son uttered, free from the haughtiness and pride that she so condemned, coaxed her hardened heart to open up once more for his sake. Sanguinius, for the first time, spoke to her as her son. "I bore you into this world, Sanguinius. I carried you as you suckled at my breast, and held you to my heart when you cried out for me. I let you sleep at my side when the storms raged against our house, and together built up your courage till you no longer feared neither lightning nor thunder. Would a mother forget these precious moments and let her son be destroyed by his own foolish actions? No, Sanguinius. A mother sees in ways no other eyes could see, see hope where others might only see darkness."

A tear escaped her eye as she swallowed the dry lump in her throat, "Indeed, you have angered me with your rebellious nature. What I saw in that moment was not a rebel that needed correction, but a son that needed his mother. All I knew was that I had to save you, and so I did."

"I didn't want to go this far..." Sanguinius said quietly. "I didn't want to hurt anyone, even if I did. I just...I wanted to be more than what you and father wanted to mold me. I thought I could find that opportunity when I took that city."

Celestine stopped in mid-flight to hold her son closer, "Oh my son, if only you knew that time would come on its own. You cannot force it. Had you stayed home, you would have realized this without all this suffering and without the destruction of this world."

"Mother?" Sanguinius inquired, "What do you mean by that?"

Celestine sighed heavily and explained sternly, "Sanguinius, there are three things that hold the Imperium together. The love for the God Emperor, hatred for his enemies, and the fear of his angels' wrath. Today, the people of Y'ttetia have seen you bleed. Human minds and hearts are corruptible, and the sight of the Emperor's grandson being so vulnerable will spark the first flames of revolution- not just for mere hamlets and kingdoms, but entire systems. Do you understand what I meant by the consequences of your actions? You have but seen only a glimpse of it. No one must know you can bleed. And so this world must die."

Sanguinius stared, mouth agape and at a loss for words. When he found his voice again later, he asked her. "W-What about Gia and father?"

"We will leave this world before then." Celestine replied, "Afterwards, only then will I consign Y'ttetia to oblivion. We will depart for another world, one under the guiding hand of the Ecclesiarchy, so that you will truly know the Emperor's love." She resumed her flight back home with a powerful thrust of her wings.

A little while later, they both arrived back on solid ground. There, at the courtyard of their family's shelter, they were met with a strange sight. A Luna Wolf Thunderhawk sat at the courtyard, with a small squad of _Primaris_ Luna Wolves standing guard at their gate. Servants helped stow away their packs and belongings, at the behest of Horus as he stood waiting at the door to their house, all dressed in his full battle regalia.

This was the first time Sanguinius had seen his father in power-armor and he found it to be an awesome sight indeed. He eyed the Luna Wolves spacemarines curiously and was taken aback when they greeted him with respectful bow.

"Sangy! What on earth has happened to you!" Aggregia cried out at the sight of her mutilated sibling. She rushed forward in an attempt to use her newfound powers to healing to see to his wounds. Horus too was astonished at the absence of his son's wings and demanded an explanation, to which Celestine replied with a hiss to beg for silence.

"I see you're already packed for departure." She said, "Good, I was just about ready to have us pack up and leave as well."

"It's not exactly for what you think, my dear." Horus replied, sharing what Arther explained to him. "There's a warp storm headed this way, which Arther believes to conceal an enemy fleet. I believe it's no coincidence, and our enemies are plotting to take our children away from us."

"It was only a matter of time." Celestine agreed, turning to Sanguinius. "Go, board the ship and remain silent." Once her son obeyed and disappeared from view, she spoke to Arther. "How far away is the storm?"

Arther's face was grim, "It is already in the system, about a quarter of a lightyear away from this world. This was according to a report sent my way two hours ago, right before communications were severed. If we are to leave, my lady, we must leave now lest we be caught up in the storm's path and our opportunity lost forever."

"My lord! Look!" A loud cry from one of the Luna Wolves caused everyone to snap into combat mode.

The all too familiar scream and crackle of eldritch energies broke through the stillness of courtyard, and the earth began to break apart with abyssal fissures as the Warp manifested itself under the behest of some dark power. Aggregia doubled over and cried out in agony as her head felt like it would split open. Then, heretical symbols branded themselves on the ground as a portal opened, spilling a horde of daemons into the compound.

The rattle of bolter-fire sounded in tandem with the cacophony of yips, giggles and roars of the mixed tide. Daemons of Slaanesh, daemons of Tzeentch, daemons of Khorne- they all rushed forward and attacked the mountain abode.

A tall figure, clad in ancient pre-Heresy armor that pulsated with unholy life, stepped out of the portal with dozens of similarly clad Wordbearer legionaries. Practically brimming with the foul powers of Chaos, though not at all seeming changed physically and maintaining the same mortal form prior to his ascension, the Black Cardinal of the Wordbearers revealed himself for the first time in thousands of years to enact another of his dark patrons' greatest atrocities.

His eyes, black as night, met the Primarch's gaze. He smiled as he greeted the one he at one lifetime called friend and fellow believer, "Horus Lupercal."

The Wolf of Terra grimaced in disgust as he spat his adversary's name, "Kor Phaeron."

"Come now, why do you hide from me?" The Black Cardinal chuckled at the sight of Aggregia fearfully cowering behind her father. "Your uncle Lorgar desires a family reunion! It is unwise to refuse him."

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End file.
